


Blood Will Tell

by starhawk2005



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Het, Smut, Vampire!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to the first chapter of 'Five Ways John Winchester Didn't Get Laid'. In this sequel, Vampire!John tries to use his new powers to defeat the Demon and its cronies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Please to be giving me the ownership manual for John and Ellen and the YED. Please?  
> Author’s Notes: Sequel to Five Ways John Winchester Didn’t Get Laid, Ch. 1 , and it’s quite AU. Ch. 1 followed S1 canon up to Devil’s Trap exactly, but the events of S2 IMTOD were changed: Dean survived the YED’s attack and the car crash just fine without John needing to summon the YED or to make any deals, and John was annoyed at how things went down and took off after the YED by himself, and…well, you can reread Ch. 1 on AO3 or LJ for a reminder of how and why he was turned.
> 
> For the purposes of the present chapter, however, I’m making another canon alteration – let’s pretend the unnamed demon (Super-Wiki says the casting sides for the episode credit him as ‘Tom’, but since he was never named in canon we’ll just call him ‘the unnamed demon’) who showed up with Meg in Lincoln doesn’t get shot in the head in Devil’s Trap by Dean. We’ll pretend it was one of the other demons that was holding John in Sunrise Apartments that attacked Sam and forced Dean to use the Colt.

John winces and stares at himself in the mirror. _Idiot._

__

He’d known, of course, that sunlight didn’t kill vampires. So he’d taken a risk today, had spent a little too long out in the sunrise, shadowing one of the Demon’s ‘kids’.

Now he’s paying for it, dearly. He grimaces again at the bright redness of the skin on his face, neck, and hands, noticing that it’s starting to peel already.

Thank God only the unclothed parts of his body have ‘burned’. A whole-body experience? Let’s not go there. This is quite bad enough.

 _You’re an idiot, John Winchester. Whether you’re a man_ or _a vampire,_ his father’s voice speaks up darkly in his head. Although John doesn’t think the old man ever uttered the word ‘vampire’ in his life.

“Shut up, y’old bastard,” he growls out loud, and hits the light switch with a violent swipe of his hand, stomping grumpily out into the motel room.

But he knows it isn’t just the unpleasant burning of his hands and face, nor the mild intermittent ache in his belly that tells him his vampire body will be needing blood – human or animal – within another two or three days that’s making him feel this way.

It’s his boys. He hasn’t seen or spoken to them in nearly two months, and with every day that passes, he finds himself more and more tempted to call them. He’d left them angry, and now he wants to reconnect with them, let them know he’s OK (that’s a laugh).They must be worried, and if he knows Dean, he’ll be pushing Sammy into looking for him. Just like Dean did the last time John went missing.

He thinks it’s partly selfishness that’s keeping him from reaching out to his boys. Yes, of course he wants to call them, despite the risk that they’ll find out he’s a vampire now, and want to put him down like a rabid dog. But it’s also partly because he’s finally got a lead on the Demon, and what he’s _really_ afraid of is that he’ll call them and they’ll convince him to let them help. And then they’ll get in the way, just like before, either getting hurt or used against him in the process.

As much as he understands why Sam didn’t shoot him and kill the Demon when he had the chance, and why Dean insisted Sam shouldn’t, part of John still resents his boys for that. This could’ve all been over!

He shoves the nagging thoughts away, turning to the notes pinned to the wall and studying them for what feels like the thousandth time, resisting the urge to scratch at the peeling skin on his hands and face.

As soon as he’d abandoned Dean and Sam back at the hospital, he’d started up again, looking for signs. Electrical storms, cattle deaths, crop failures, temperature fluctuations. He knew now what they meant, what they were portents of.

Kate’s capture of him and the execution of her revenge had only proven to be a brief delay. Once he’d gotten the hang of his new existence, of a new kind of hunting – for blood – he’d been back on the trail again. He’d scoured the newspapers and internet, looking for signs. He’d called Bobby (God, how he missed Caleb and Pastor Jim!), asking about any demonic activity he might have heard about. John figured it was safe enough – Bobby couldn’t tell over the phone that he was a goddamned vampire now, after all.

When word gets out, if it hasn’t already, that’s he’s had a falling-out with his boys, well, he’s sure the hunter community will accept that without an eyeblink.

If John Winchester is good at one thing, it’s alienating people.

He laughs harshly to himself and pulls a map from the wall, examining it, remembering again what events brought him to this place and time.

Once again, he reflects on how funny it was that he’d almost _missed_ him. John had been at a bar, just starting another hunt for blood, when he’d spotted the man out of the corner of his eye. Wait, not a man, a _demon-possessed_ man. The same unnamed man who had been with Meg in that warehouse in Lincoln, where John had tried and failed to pass off a fake Colt. And failed.

This was the man (demon) that had pinned John effortlessly to the wall, a trick John had later seen – from an entirely different and unwelcome perspective - the Demon repeat on Dean and Sam mere hours later. This was the man that had beaten him bloody and then tied him mercilessly tight to a bed in Sunrise Apartments while Meg had watched and jeered.

God works in mysterious ways, indeed, John had thought at the time with a mix of bitterness and amazement. Out of the entire country, out of all the bars in all the dingy small towns, who would have expected that John Winchester would just _stumble_ onto a creature who could lead him directly to the Demon?

John had stepped back into the shadows of the smoky bar, but the man hadn’t seen him. John knew it was possible that this wasn’t the same man – or rather, that it was the same _host_ , but the demon itself might be gone, inhabiting some other poor bastard – and John intended to make sure. He’d breathed deep, etching the man’s scent in his memory, and then slipped out a back exit.

He’d sat in his truck, waiting. Waiting until the man left, climbing into a rickety old sedan. Then, John had slowly pursued him, waiting to see where the demon – if it was a demon still – would stop.

John had lost track of time, concentrating on the scent and also on the psychic vibrations of his prey – another little extra sense that vampires seemed to have over humans – and yes, it _did_ seem as though there was something ‘special’ about this fellow. John didn’t know if possessed people had a particular scent or vibration, something that vampires could pick up on, but he was going to assume the answer was yes, for now.

John had tailed his prey to another rundown warehouse, giving John something of an unwelcome flashback to his experiences in Lincoln. As soon as the man was in the building, John snuck up to one of the dirty windows, peering in, making sure this was where his prey was calling home base.

For a moment, he had considered attacking the bastard then and there. Payback for the way it had hurt him when he was human. Once that was done, he’d force it to tell him where the Demon was, or where it would show up next.

But a sudden sharp hunger pang had stopped him, reminded him that he’d been in the middle of trying to feed when Fate had dropped a lead to the Demon practically in John’s vampiric lap.

He wasn’t starving, not yet, because he never let it get to that point. Still, he’d thought about scouring the area for some poor asshole and feeding on them, although that might be risky. A commotion of any kind nearby, and the demon might sense it and try to run. Or worse, come after John while he was weak. Human blood was like a drug, it left you euphoric for at least several minutes, and John didn’t want to have to fight a demon and the after-feeding haze at the same time.

John had briefly considered animal blood, but then dismissed the idea. Animal blood wasn’t going to work. Even if he wanted to corner some stray dog or cat, even if the blood would take the edge off his hunger, he knew by now from personal experience that human blood left him stronger, faster, his senses sharper. It sustained him for longer, which was always an advantage when you didn’t know how long a hunt would take. As long as he didn’t kill any of his ‘donors’, he didn’t really see taking human blood as a problem. Especially under these circumstances, because if this guy _was_ still possessed, John knew he’d need all the help he could get.

So he’d backed off and crept back to his truck, intending to find a ‘donor’ a little further away…which was when he’d first realized that he had less than an hour before the sun rose.

He hadn’t panicked, not at first. It wasn’t fatal to vampires to be caught in sunlight. He’d have a quick feed, he’d decided, and then get back here to take down the unnamed man and the demon that was likely inside it as soon as he could.

But that part of town had been like a ghost town, and by the time he found likely prey, the sun was already part-way up.

His skin already had started to _burn_.

He’d tried to ignore it at first, tried to get out of the truck to tail his prey, but the burn had worsened and worsened, rapidly becoming all he could think about, a stronger sensation than either his need for blood or his need for revenge.

Instead, he’d found himself gunning it back to his motel room, pedal jammed nearly to the floor. Instinct, he knows now. You’re afraid and in pain, so you high-tail it back to your burrow. Or in his case, his motel room.

Now, after reliving the entire sequence of events in his mind, he tosses the map aside and grimaces at the skin peeling off his knuckles. Well, coming back here was better, anyways. He’d much rather have the Colt on him when he confronts the unnamed man, just in case, and he’d left it back here anyways.

Maybe the Demon’s son is alone, yes. But maybe it isn’t. Maybe the Demon’s nearby. If so, John wants to be ready to take that sonofabitch down. _Hard_.

Except now he knows he’s screwed. He hasn’t had a chance to feed, and there’s no way he can entice prey now, when his exposed skin looks exactly like a badly made pizza.

Frustrated, he pounds a fist on the desk, blinking in surprise as his hand punches right through the top, splinters flying everywhere.

Fuck, and _more_ fuck.

 

*~*~*

 

Hours pass, and besides the infernal itching and the increasing hunger cramps in his belly, there’s nothing to do except Monday-morning quarterbacking, intermixed with trying to think through every possible scenario he could encounter when he goes back after the Demon’s child.

The quarterbacking: He shouldn’t have blown up at Dean and Sam. He should call them, tell them some lie so they’ll know he’s OK and they’ll stay put and not come after him, not worry about him (yeah, right). He should call them and tell him he’s got a lead on the Demon and needs their help, but not tell them the whole ‘I’m a vampire now, by the way’, part. He shouldn’t call them, they could get hurt. He should call other hunters he trusts, like Bobby Singer, and get their expertise on board, instead.

The possible scenarios: The human isn’t possessed by the demon any more (still, John thinks the altar he glimpsed through the grimy warehouse window says otherwise). The Demon is there with its son. The demon possessing the human isn’t ‘related’ to John’s Demon so it won’t know anything, or it won’t tell him where the Demon is, no matter what. Or both. That John, even in his new body, won’t be strong enough to take the Demon’s kid, he’ll just get pinned to a wall like before, and maybe beheaded for his trouble. That maybe he’ll die and Dean and Sam will never know what happened to him.

Last and best scenario: Maybe he’ll get a good lead on the Demon, track the thing down, get a jump on it, and spend the Colt’s last bullet in the thing’s black heart.

He dozes when the urge becomes overwhelming, but mostly he paces. Paces and thinks.

Until his cell phone rings.

He ignores it at first, letting it go to voicemail. He doesn’t want to be distracted, and if it’s Dean or Sam, it’s going to touch off another round of agonized indecision, agonized Monday-morning quarterbacking.

But finally curiosity gets the better of him, and he listens to the message.

_John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn, you know I can help you. Call me._

He shakes his head and tosses the phone onto the bed. It’s not that he doesn’t want Ellen’s help. But he can’t look at her without thinking of Billy, and the fact that Billy’s death was his fault. Another source of guilt he doesn’t want to deal with right now.

 

*~*~*

 

The dead skin finally finishes peeling off a day later, and the last rays of the sun have barely extinguished before John grabs his duffle bag – the Colt, holy water, Mandaic amulets, and a bag of rock-salt already prepared and packed – and gets into his truck.

He’s ravenous, so he has no choice. No fancy talk, no luring of pretty female prey, not this time. He spots a bum in a dark alley, a fellow so drunk he doesn’t stir at all, not even when John braces himself and fastens on the bum’s wrist, too hungry to care about the grime and stench of the man. Besides, this poor guy’s so beat-up already, he’ll probably barely notice the bite-mark.

John takes as much as he needs, and then gets back into his truck. He drives just barely under the speed limit, hands tight to the steering wheel. As tight as they can be without snapping the steering wheel in half.

He parks a few blocks away, then tucks the Colt into his belt and slings the bag over his shoulder, creeping over to the building, sticking to the shadows.

John slips through a dirty window, moving silently. There’s the altar, although closer inspection reveals it’s now empty of anything but garbage and splatters of what his vampire senses unquestionably identify as blood. Desperation starts to rise inside him as he scans the rest of the room, but there’s nothing.

Nobody.

He checks that floor out thoroughly, but it’s empty. He checks the second, top floor, his frustration and anger growing.

No, no, _NO_.

Nothing. The man was here, but now he’s gone.

John stops next to the altar once more, rage slowly building inside him. One lead, one glimmer of hope, one miracle, and now he’s lost the trail again.

“NOOOO!” he roars, and spends his new strength uselessly, smashing the altar to bits.

 

*~*~*

 

He’s still seething when he gets back to his motel room. He should’ve taken his chances and attacked the demon when he had a chance.

He should have-

That’s when his eye falls on his cell phone, still lying discarded on the crumpled bedsheets. He forgot it here earlier, in his haste to get his hands on the demon.

John considers, then dismisses it. Too complicated, he can do this on his own. He’s picked up the trail once, he can do it again.

He doesn’t need the Demon’s kids to give him leads, not really. Or so he tells himself.

 

*~*~*

 

He’s fucked. He tracked the signs to two more towns, but both times he’s been too late. The first time, the Demon had already flamed one family home, killing half of them, just as John was hauling ass into town. The second time, John picked the wrong fucking house to stake out.

Another town, another motel room, and John holds his cell phone in his hand, glaring at it.

Fine, then. Ellen it is.

It’s been years, but he still remembers the way to Harvelle’s roadhouse as if he’d been there mere days ago.

John braces himself for the shock of seeing her, opening the creaky door to the bar.

It’s mercifully empty at 2:48am. Only one or two other patrons, and he doesn’t recognize either of them. That’s good.

A small blonde walks up to him. “You want a beer, stranger, you’d better order fast. We’re closing up soon.”

It’s Ellen’s daughter, Jo. John didn’t recognize her by sight – she’s grown a lot since last he saw her – but she certainly _smells_ like Ellen’s daughter to his vampire senses.

“Hey, Jo,” he says, a little uncomfortably. “You probably don’t remember me. John Winchester? I came to see your mother.” I got your daddy killed, he adds silently.

Her eyes widen. “John?” She looks uncertain as to what to do – hug him, shake his hand, get him a beer, punch his lights out? – so she just shifts awkwardly and wipes her hands on her jeans. “Wow,” she finally says, “My mom’ll be surprised to see you. Wait a minute, I’ll go get her.” She flits off to one of the back rooms, and John lowers himself into the closest chair.

He doesn’t have to wait long. “John,” Ellen says, appearing at his side.

John looks up at her, smiling a little. She looks good, not much different from when he saw her last. That makes him feel a little better, though he’s not sure why.

“Jo, get us some beers, would you?” Ellen asks her daughter, and then sits down opposite him. “John,” she says, hesitantly. “How are you? I heard about what happened-“

“I’m OK,” John lies. “As OK as can be expected.” There, that’s more accurate. “We had the Demon, had it dead to rights. And then…” He shrugs, pausing as Jo brings their beers. He waits until Ellen motions Jo back to the bar, before continuing.

“You said you could help,” he continues.

Ellen snorts, the corner of her mouth quirking. “Still not much for conversation, huh, John?” She shifts in her chair, drinking from her own bottle.

That’s when it hits him. She’s attracted to him, wants him, he can _smell_ it. Thicker and headier than any perfume, seeping from her every pore, wafting over to tease at his vampire senses.

Has she always felt this way about him (since Billy died and she forgave him, that is)? Or is she responding to him because of his new state? Some women are wired to be turned-on by danger, and a creature who can tear your throat open and drink you dry in two minutes flat certainly qualifies. Even if she doesn’t _know_ what he is, maybe somehow she can sense the risk.

He pushes his awareness of her reaction aside. He’ll need blood in a day or two, but not now. And not her. It’s complicated. They were like family once, before Billy died. Heck, Ellen would have let him stay family, if only John could have forgiven himself as easily as she had forgiven him.

She sees Billy’s death as a mistake. In John Winchester’s world, however, mistakes are inexcusable. He hasn’t forgiven himself, even if she has.

“No, not much for conversation,” he confirms, smiling at her a little. He can still be friendly, even as he blocks her out. “What do you have?”

She looks rueful for a moment, but then it’s back to business. “There’s someone you should meet.” She turns and calls over her shoulder. “Ash!”

 

*~*~*

 

John never would’ve expected that the hick with the laughable mullet haircut would be able to crunch the numbers better than John himself, but it only takes a couple days for Ash to build his ‘Demon Detector 2000’, as Ash calls it.

John stays away as much as he can, claiming that he’s scouting for other weapons to use against the Demon, but the truth is, he needs to stay away from Ellen. He’s always had a soft spot for her, despite his determination to keep her at arm’s length, and he doesn’t want to be tempted. When he was human, once Billy passed, he’d stayed away from Ellen because it was too tempting to comfort himself – comfort her, too – in her arms, and both his guilt over Billy and his loyalty to Mary hadn’t allowed that. Add in the added complication of his new state, and it’s much safer to stay away, as much as he can without seeming outright rude.

Then, John gets the call. “It’s coming,” Ash tells him, and lists off all the signs and the area where they’re occurring. Only five and a half hour’s drive away, as luck would have it. John ponders again whether God might finally be on his side after all this time.

Ash’s contraption still can’t tell John _which_ family will be targeted, though. He’s got to do the legwork himself. Which is difficult, because he can’t visit hospitals and health centres during the day, obviously.

Once he gets where he needs to go, he resorts to breaking in at night. This is an act he’s had to perfect in those previous towns, something that probably slowed him down enough to give the Demon the chance to hit those other families and get away. Now he hopes he has enough leeway this time, thanks to Ash.

Twelve likely infants, and he curses silently to himself. What the Hell is he going to do _now_? His old trick of going around and seeing if any of them have been having electrical issues lately won’t work quite as well as it used to. What technician is going to show up after dark? Fuck.

He drives around aimlessly, cruising past each house that might come due for an attack tomorrow night, assuming the Demon must strike on the exact day the child is six months old. He’s trying to think up a new strategy, since there’s no way he can simultaneously stake out so many homes at once, and that’s when God chooses to smile on him once again. John starts to turn onto one street where one of the families in question lives, and that’s when he catches the scent of the unnamed man. An instant later, John’s night vision spots the unnamed man strolling nonchalantly down the sidewalk.

John keeps driving another block or two, then parks and makes his way back. Slowly, keeping under cover of darkness. He doesn’t really need to – the scent is the right one, after all - but still, he wants to be _sure._

Yes, his improved eyesight confirms it again.

He doesn’t know if the unnamed demon is scoping the place out for its daddy or not, but John decides right then and there to assume this is the home. The one the Demon’s going to hit. Why else would its kid be here?

John creeps back to his truck and takes stock of the situation. The Demon could show up as early as tomorrow night, and once again, John knows he isn’t quite at full strength. He’s a little peckish at the moment, and again he must make a decision – does he go and fill up on blood, on human blood? Does he go for the easier targets of animals and risk being weakened in the final battle? Or does he stay here and sit on the house, to minimize the risk of missing the Demon again?

Finally, he resolves to go for the best ‘fuel’ he can.

But by the time the sun is due to rise again, he’s ready to throw in the towel, because it’s not working. He’s distracted, nervous, edging on desperation, and all the potential donors he’s approached at the local watering holes he’s tried tonight appear to be sensing it and staying far away. Fuck.

Angry at himself, he gets a motel room a bare twenty minutes before the sun will scorch him again, and he resolves to find a quick meal of blood the moment the sun sets tomorrow.

Except another, better solution keeps trying to present itself.

He keeps pushing it out of his mind. It would work, it would be – relatively – safe, and it would be faster than trying to lure a new female victim quickly at sunset tomorrow, less risky than trying to corner someone quickly in a darkened alley. But that doesn’t mean he _should_.

The notion of forcing a helpless human against a wall while he takes blood from them is no more appealing than it ever was, however, and finally he decides to try this other option, despite the risk.

He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. 

*~*~*

John waits impatiently in the dim motel room, pacing back and forth. Waiting for the knock at the door. Finally, it comes and he opens it to find Ellen standing there.

“You said you needed my help,” she says without preamble, shouldering her way past him and into the room.

“Yeah,” John says, slowly shutting the door. Now that she’s here, it’s that much harder. “I do.”

“What kind of help?” Ellen asks. John hasn’t turned, he’s still facing the door, but he doesn’t need to see her to guess that she’s standing in the middle of the room with her arms folded. It’s a classic Ellen pose. More interestingly, her female scent tells him everything he needs to know.

She’s curious, a little annoyed...and she still _wants_ him.

“You told Dean you and I were like family once,” he says, still with his back to her. “Did you mean that, Ellen?”

“Why are you asking me that?” she questions him, tension rising in her voice.

“Because I’m in a bind. A serious one. And I need to know that I can trust you,” John says. He pauses. “And you need to know that you can trust me.”

“John Winchester, what the Hell is going on?” Ellen demands sharply, her patience apparently at its end.

“I’ve got a problem,” he stalls. Christ, this is difficult.

“What?” she snaps. She never was much for beating around the bush. That’s never been the Harvelle way.

He turns slowly. “ _This,_ ” he says quietly. He watches her face pale as his eyes gleam bright silver at her.

She stares for the space of three heartbeats – he can hear them, ringing in his ears - and then she’s pulling a gun from under her coat. “A _problem_? I’d say that’s an understatement, John.” Her voice is steady, but her aim on the gun is not.

John doesn’t move. He expected this reaction, after all. He expects no less from a hunter’s widow. “That won’t do you any good. Got a blade? That’s what you need to kill a vampire.”

“Is this why you called me here? To have me kill you? To-“ she pauses, swallows, “to kill _me_?” The scent of her fear fills the small room.

He just shakes his head and spreads his hands in what he hopes is a non-threatening way. “I’m going to go sit at that table over there. Slowly.” He does exactly as he says, watches from the corner of his eye as she tracks him with the gun. This is for her benefit, of course, not his. That gun isn’t going to hurt him, not one bit, but he sees no reason to scare her even further. That’s not going to help either of them.

John lowers himself into a chair, and then nods at the gun in her hands. “Seriously, Ellen, that’s not going to do anything. There’s a machete in my duffle, by the foot of the bed. If it makes you feel safer, get it out.”

For a moment she just stands there, but when she becomes convinced John’s not about to fall on her and savage her, she edges back until her foot hits the bag. She bends down, keeping the gun on him with one hand while she digs for the machete with the other. He waits until she holsters the gun and wraps both hands around the hilt of the machete, and then he indicates the chair opposite him at the pockmarked little table. “Sit down.” He puts both his hands where she can see them, palm down on the tabletop, and waits.

Finally she edges forward, pulls the chair back and sits, machete held up between them like a razored wall. “Why did you call me here, John?” she repeats.

He sighs, but he has no choice but to tell her everything. In for a penny, in for a pound, his daddy used to say. Still, time is relatively short, so he’ll give her the Cliff’s Notes version. “You know what happened two months ago? When Sammy and Dean and I went after the Demon?”

“Yeah,” she says, brown eyes never leaving his hazel ones.

He nods. “Well, Sam had a chance to kill it, but he….wasn’t able to take the shot.” John drops his eyes, picks at a flaw on the tabletop. “And I was pretty steamed about it. So I took off, left them at the hospital, went searching out the Demon’s trail on my own.”

“Turned out I forgot about some old ‘friends’ of ours. Some vampire friends. They caught me, turned me.”

He pauses, takes a breath. “Well, I wasn’t interested in buyin’ what they were sellin’, so I killed the rest of them as soon as they gave me a chance to, and I tried to pick up the Demon’s trail again.” He looks up to meet her eyes, his voice softer. “I’ve become the very thing I usually would kill without question, but the Demon’s a bigger evil. It needs to be stopped. I can’t let it go after Dean and Sammy again, I just can’t. Can’t let it destroy more families.” He drops his eyes again.

“And I figured, so long as I don’t kill anybody, if I can find a way to get blood without _really_ hurtin’ anyone, that it was OK for me to keep on like this. At least til this Demon’s taken care of.”

He doesn’t know when it happened, but Ellen has lowered the machete. He goes on, “So, I’ve learned to manage it. I can take animal blood, at least some of the time. And I do. It lets me get by. But sometimes I need human blood, there’s no real way around that. I can’t fight demons if I’m weak, and that’s what animal blood does to vampires. Weakens ‘em. Makes ‘em more like regular people. So I do take blood from humans on occasion, but…” Now he looks directly into her eyes again. “I’ve _never_ killed or turned anyone.”

“I still don’t see why I’m here,” Ellen says, but her voice is softer, too. She’s starting to get it. She always was quick.

“I found a potential lead on the Demon, a little while back. But I needed blood – human blood – to make sure I’d be strong enough. And then while I was off hunting for a ‘donor’, my lead evaporated.” He shakes his head slowly, then dares to slide one hand across the table to lightly touch the back of hers. The hunger coils in his stomach, but he pushes his awareness of it aside, focuses his attention on her.

“Now I have a lead again, thanks to Ash. The Demon’s very likely coming tonight. It’s going to cut another mother to pieces against a ceiling, flame another family home. I can’t let that happen. But I need blood, and I don’t want to waste time hunting it. Every hour after dark I’m not sitting on that house is another hour in which the Demon can slip in and murder another innocent family.”

She doesn’t draw her hand away. She’s watching him, listening, fascinated – and yes, turned on – despite her fears. “You want to feed on _me_.”

He shakes his head, ignoring the growling of his belly. “No, I don’t _want_ to, Ellen. I don’t want to be this way. And I don’t want my boys to find out about what’s happened to me – that’s one of the things I’ll just have to trust you on – but I need someone, someone I feel I can trust, someone…someone like family.” He tightens his grip carefully on her hand.

“To get this Demon,” she says, looking deep into his eyes, trying to read the truth of what he’s saying.

“Yes.”

“And you’re not going to kill me.”

He shakes his head emphatically. “No.” He smiles at her. “If that’s what I wanted to do, I would’ve done it already. I wouldn’t have waited for you to get your hands on the only thing that can kill me.” He nods at the machete.

The machete _he_ effectively gave her.

Her hand is ice-cold in his. She’s nervous, despite her arousal, and he waits. It has to be her decision.

“OK,” she says after an eternity. She gets up slowly, hesitant. He gets to his feet as well, mirroring her. He takes a step closer, but not close enough to tower over her, not yet.

She looks at the machete in her hand, then puts it very deliberately on the table. “Take what you need,” she says resolutely, and tilts her head, baring the side of her throat. John feels the hunger spiking more forcefully in his belly.

Still, he holds back. “You sure about this?” he asks.

Ellen doesn’t answer. She just reaches out, curling her cold fingers around the back of his neck, and draws him in, pressing his face to her vulnerable throat.

It’s damned alluring. He can sink his teeth into that clean soft skin, drink deep of what he needs, and then be on the road and right on the Demon’s ass in no time. He feels the pressure in his gums, his mouth watering as the tips of his fangs start to slide out. Reflexively, his mouth opens, his tongue slipping out to taste her, and she shudders.

His arms come up to hold her still, wrapping around her, cupping her shoulder blades. Her pulse throbs under his lips, and his teeth are almost fully extended now, ready to drink her down.

But it’s not right. Her posture is submissive, accommodating, but he can feel the tension. Her muscles in tight little knots, the shudders that keep wracking her frame.

He can’t do it.

It’s going to _hurt_ this way, and that’s a helluva way to treat a lady, especially after she came running out here on minimal intell to help him. Especially after she didn’t try to kill him, even when he practically put the required weaponry into her hands.

He forces himself back from the enticement of her throat. Buries his face instead in the loose honey-coloured fall of her hair and breathes in her warm scent, fighting his impulses until his teeth retract back into his gums. Then he cups her face in his hands, pulls her into a kiss.

At first she gasps, stiffening even more against him. She wasn’t expecting _this_. But just when he thinks he’d better back the heck off, that maybe he needs to ask her if this is OK with her or not – maybe she’d prefer he just bite her and have done with it - she slides her own arms around his shoulders and slips him the tongue.

He’s startled at the passion of her sudden surrender, but he likes this better. He explores her mouth with his, slowly, thoroughly.

He doesn’t love her, that’s still reserved for Mary. But he _does_ care for her, care about her. He doesn’t have a lot of time, but he has just enough, he thinks (he hopes). He’s not going to force her, not interested in hurting her, at least no more than he has to.

She’s being more aggressive than he would have expected, but he likes it. During blood hunts he’s always been the one who has to be in control, who has to decide what to do next. Usually he has to keep control so his teeth don’t come out and reveal him to his partner, but he doesn’t have to hide what he is this one time. It releases a lot of the tension.

Her hands are fumbling with his shirt buttons even as she keeps on kissing him, pressing her tongue into his mouth, and he allows both. Her hands are warmer now as they caress his bare skin, discovering the shape of his pecs, his biceps, and he cups the back of her skull in a careful hand as her mouth leaves his to taste the base of _his_ throat, to trail kisses down his chest.

He’s surprised to actually be enjoying himself for once, despite the situation, despite what’s going to come after this – the biggest hunt of his life – and it’s probably easier because he _knows_ Ellen. This is someone he trusts (after a fashion). Not some random stranger.

She’s standing again, looking up at him, starting to unbutton her own shirt. He smiles encouragement at her and reaches to help, not really shocked when she reaches behind her immediately to unclasp her bra the moment her shirt is off and gone. She’s breathing harder and he can hear the blood rushing through her veins, can smell just how badly she wants him.

It’s different than other blood hunts he’s engaged in. She knows him, and knows what he is, and she’s still here, aroused and wanton. It makes _him_ almost painfully aroused.

Her breasts are finally bare, and wordlessly she takes his hands in hers and presses his palms against her hard nipples. He licks his lips and steps closer, and she reaches up to tangle her fingers in his hair, guiding his mouth down to her breast.

Ellen gasps as he wraps his limber tongue around the tip of her nipple, and it’s music to his ears. He suckles gently, and her hips rock a little under his hands. He nibbles carefully, human teeth only, and she moans and presses herself against him. He’s aware of her hands undoing her jeans, and he allows her to step back, helps her pull the jeans off, and he takes her panties all the way down and off for her.

Mission completed, he starts to get up, but her hands are on his shoulders, gently pushing him back down onto his knees. She’s still in control, and he has no problem with that. “Kiss me, John,” she says breathlessly.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he answers, and does as he’s told. Delivers lots of soft, loose kisses all over her dark blond curls, until she spreads her legs wider for him, her fingers burning hot now where they grip his shoulders for balance. He slides his arm around her, helping to steady her, and nuzzles against her wet folds. “I’ve got you, baby,” he rumbles, breathing her in, and it’s ambrosia, honey.

John likes the sounds she makes as he touches her, caressing her, his fingertips sliding easily along her wet skin. He pushes a finger inside her, slow and deft, her muscles grabbing at him, trying to pull him in deeper. He closes his mouth around her, softly suckling on her nub, and she shudders (so much different from before), startling him with the ferocity of her sudden orgasm. Then again, if she’s been keeping herself as celibate as he used to as a human man, it’s not that surprising.

Her legs are trembling and she’s trying to back up, so he releases her so she can sit on the edge of the bed. Her skin is flushed and filmed with sweat, the sweet pulses of her blood _calling_ to him, and he has to fight his fangs back again. He’s been too distracted to take the opportunity so far, but they’re not done yet.

“Get up, John,” she orders, and he smirks and obeys. Still, he’s taken a bit off-guard when her fingers entwine themselves in his belt-loops, pulling him eagerly forward, and she looks up at him and mouths his erection through his jeans in a way that makes him wonder if he’s going to be able to hold back at all, vampire-enhanced stamina or not.

“Ellen, wait-“ he starts, but she’s already got his fly halfway unzipped. He reaches down to cradle her cheek, trying to get her attention.

“I’m done _waiting_ ,” she’s almost snarling, and John wonders who’s _really_ the beast in this room.

And if she’s referring to just this moment in particular. 

John pulls a condom quickly from his pocket and waves it in front of her eyes, thinking that ‘show and tell’ might get through the haze of her lust more quickly than a prolonged verbal explanation. “Can’t turn you with my saliva,” he says succinctly. “Not so sure about semen, so can I put this on, first? Please?”

“Yeah, OK. Sorry,” she says, sitting back. He helps her disrobe the rest of him, and waits patiently for her to put the condom on him.

“Damn, I hate the taste of latex,” she complains.

“I’m not risking your life,” John insists flatly, a little bit of Corporal Winchester coming back. She can run the show, but only so long as she doesn’t put herself in any danger. That’s not negociable.

She nods, resigned, and takes him deep into her mouth, not even bothering to pull his jeans and briefs all the way down, and John just closes his eyes and gives in. He hasn’t done this before with a ‘donor’ – more of that fear of losing control and being found out, of needing to be in command of the situation so he can pick just the right moment to take the necessary ‘donation’ – and he hasn’t realized how much he’s missed it, nor how much his new senses would make an already sensuous experience that much more mind-blowing.

Even through latex, Ellen’s mouth is hot and wet and soft, and John slides his fingers through her honey locks and throws his head back, moaning. Christ. He wonders why he never thought of calling Ellen for ‘help’ before.

When her tongue laves the underside of his shaft and then dips lower, slipping across the curve of his aching balls, he knows he’s going to lose it if he doesn’t stop her. “Ellen, enough!”

“Enough of _that_ , anyways,” she agrees, getting up and shoving him until he’s lying back on the bed. He has to grin a little at the eager way she’s yanking his jeans and briefs away, but wisely he says nothing. She straddles him, and he reaches out to stroke his fingers down over her collarbone, continuing until he can encircle her nipple again.

She leans down and kisses him, her hair falling around their faces and brushing tantalizingly against his skin. Beyond the curtain of her hair, he’s aware of her hands lining him up, positioning him just the way she wants him. She moans into his mouth, he feels her using the head of his shaft to massage her clit, and his fangs try again to descend at the pure smell of _lust_ coming off of her.

Ellen finally shifts position a little, and then he’s sliding inside her. That same moment of perfection, of bliss, of being inside someone, joined to them. He always felt that way at this precise moment as a human, and that hasn’t changed at all in his present state.

She pulls back, her eyes dark and glazed as she rides him, and his gaze goes directly to the rapid pulsebeat in her throat. He must not allow himself to forget why they’re doing this.

He clasps her hips, making long, smooth movements inside her. Her eyes are closed, her mouth open, and he watches her face, drinking in her expressions of pleasure as greedily as he’ll be drinking her blood any moment now.

He wants to let go and enjoy this, but he knows he can’t. He needs to strategize. He distances himself, watching, waiting until her body’s signs tell him just how close she is to going over the edge. He drops a hand between their thrusting bodies, thumb applying careful pressure to her slippery clit, and she must sense exactly what he wants, because as the tremours start to take her over, she leans to his mouth, tilting her head back, offering.

It’s what he’s been waiting for. His teeth rip free, and as her muscles undulate around him, milking his own orgasm out of him, his teeth slip into her and liquid light pours over his tongue and down his throat.

The haze of his own climax threatens to overwhelm him, to drive him to take too much, but he battles it back. He’s not going to drink her dry, no matter how easy it would be. And it _would_ be easy. Her hand is curled around the back of his head, but she’s not pushing him away. Instead her fingers tangle in his hair, holding his mouth to the wound he’s made, letting him drink deep.

He takes as much as he needs, maybe slightly more, and then he rolls them over, pinning her underneath him, taking control back. He pulls away from her neck, waits for the clotting action in his saliva to do its work, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure and pain still rolling through Ellen’s body.

When she’s limp and quiet underneath him, he forces himself to pull out of her and get up from the bed. He cleans himself off and dresses quickly, trying to ignore the sadness brewing in her eyes as she rolls up on her elbows to watch him.

She doesn’t ask him if it’s time. “Call me when it’s done,” she says, instead. “Promise me, John.”

He nods, grabbing his jacket and his duffle. “I will.”

“ _Promise_ me, John,” she says, her voice insistent, and he realizes there’s another advantage of having called her here to help him like this: if he fails and doesn’t survive, at least someone will know what’s happened to him. Someone will be able to tell Sam and Dean, let them know their father went out fighting. Give them closure.

He goes back to the bed and leans down to kiss her softly on the mouth. He avoids looking at the bite-mark he’s left on her neck, though. “First-aid kit’s in the medicine cabinet,” he says gruffly.

He heads for the door. “Get out of here and go home, Ellen,” he adds. “In case this goes south, I don’t want you anywhere near the line of fire.” He waits for her nod, and then lets himself out. Time to face his destiny.

 

*~*~*

 

One bullet left, and he’d better make it count. John parks five blocks away, and makes his way over to the house, sticking tightly to the shadows. Waiting for the lights to flicker ominously.

When it finally happens, he ignores the mingled sense of triumph and fear that rises inside him. He breaks down the front door in one blow with his newfound strength, not caring how the family will react. Better he scare the daylights out of them and prevent the Demon from carrying out its slash and burn routine, than waste time trying to talk his way in.

He ignores the terrified shouting, and bounds up the stairs four and five at a time, the Colt already cocked and ready in his hand.

John bursts into the room, and he’s just in time for once. The mother is pinned to the upper part of the wall, tears streaming down her face, but there’s no blood on her clothes. No fire.

Just a shadowy figure, leaning over the crib.

John skids to a halt and raises the Colt-

He gets a flash of yellow eyes, and then a burst of black smoke across his vision. His finger tightens on the trigger-

But it’s gone. Just _gone_.

He almost fires the gun anyways, wasting the last precious bullet, but that’s another advantage of his new state – his reflexes are quicker. He _just_ manages to loosen his trigger-finger in time, manages to keep from firing.

He drops his hand, surveying the room, but it’s gone and John roars in anguish and rage.

He’s fucked up _again_.

The mother’s terrified whimpers and the screams of the infant snap him back to reality. They aren’t safe here. “Take your baby and your family and get out,” he orders her.

She remains frozen, staring up at him, so he picks the squalling child up as gently and quickly as he can and deposits it into her arms. “Move. Now!” he barks, shoving her out the door ahead of him. He glances back just in time to see the crib consumed in a sudden fireball.

The Demon’s still here. He can still get it.

Her husband is hovering uncertainly in the hallway, and John pushes her into the man’s arms. “Get out, now!” he yells, and then he turns and runs. Back into the flames.

The room is floor-to-ceiling engulfed by now, the flames dancing merrily. John steps cautiously into the middle of the room, but while he can _feel_ the heat, it seems to have no effect on him. On his skin, anyways. His clothes? Different story.

He scans the room, but if the Demon is still here, he can’t see it. _Is_ it still here?

 _My my my, how you’ve_ changed _, John,_ it speaks up tauntingly in his mind. John whirls and brings up the Colt, but there’s nothing to aim at.

“Yeah,” John answers out loud. “All the better to kill you.”

It laughs darkly. _Maybe, but you still need to_ see _me to shoot me._

John spins around, aiming in the direction the voice seems to be coming from – assuming it isn’t all in his head – but there’s nothing. Just the flames and heat, wrapping him in a hellish envelope. Even his vampiric senses are giving him nothing.

 _Ironic, isn’t it? You spend your life hunting monsters, and now you’re_ one _of them. Some would say that’s poetic justice, Johnny-boy._

He can hear the thing, but he can’t see it. There’s nothing to aim at, and John soon realizes it’s useless, his heart sinking. If the Colt was a machine gun, he’d spray the room with bullets and take his chances, but there’s only the one shot. That’s all.

This isn’t going to work. He can stand here while the house reduces to ash around him, and he’ll never get a clear shot at the Demon.

Better to leave now, while he can do so easily. He knows he’ll survive, no matter how intense the flames get, but he doesn’t want cops or firemen slowing him down, questioning him. He doesn’t want to attract attention, walking down the street wearing nothing but a few strategically-placed ashes.

Best to take the back way. With a final angry curse, he dashes for the door and down the crumbling, burning staircase. The backyard is dark and cool and full of moving shadows, and he holsters the Colt quickly, but there’s no one there to see. His sensitive hearing detects the mother out in the front yard, trying to explain to someone in authority what happened to her – that one stranger was in her daughter’s nursery and attacked her, that another stranger saved her – and John briefly hopes that she doesn’t get faced with the same disbelief and derision he had to endure when Mary passed.

Through it all, John can still hear the fucking Demon _laughing_.

He has no choice but to get back to his truck, regroup, and try to pick up the Demon’s trail again at a later time. It smarts, that he came so close yet again, but at least he managed to snatch one family whole from the Demon’s lethal grip.

John walks quickly back to his truck, and starts to open the driver’s side door-

When a body smashes into him. Hard. The impact throws him back and he lands on his shoulder, the long barrel of the Colt in the back of his pants digging sharply into him.

John glares up at his attacker, and it’s the unnamed possessed human again, leering down at him.

He remembers once more what happened the last time they fought. Very one-sided. The bastard pinned him against the wall with that psychic crap, and then once Meg arrived they both beat the shit out of him. Until the Demon came and possessed him.

Not this time.

John scrambles to his feet and launches himself at the man. He gets a glimpse of his opponent’s eyes widening in shock – apparently he didn’t get the memo about John’s metamorphosis into something stronger than your garden-variety human hunter – before John picks him up by the lapels and throws him bodily across the street.

There’s the wet crunch of bone as the other man hits the concrete, face down. His leer is still in place as he gets up slowly, however. He’s bleeding, injured, but obviously the demon inside the man isn’t going to let something like broken bones slow it down.

In a flash, the man’s on John again. There’s a sudden horrid wash of pain across his throat, and John realizes the other man just sliced into him with a knife. John claps a hand to his throat and backs away, but it’s OK. The pain’s gone in an instant, and although his own blood slicks his fingers, the wound’s already sealed itself.

Wasn’t enough to decapitate him. Maybe the demon just doesn’t realize what it’s up against yet.

Either way, John’s had enough. This bastard beat him up, taunted him, threatened to kill Dean and Sam in horrific ways. John may have missed the Demon tonight, but that doesn’t mean he intends to leave empty-handed.

Enraged, he roars loud enough to rattle the windows of warehouses nearby, as he launches himself at the demon.

They’re on the ground, rolling, punching each other. More bones break, though John’s heal immediately and the unnamed demon barely reacts to its own wounds.

Soon it becomes evident that they are equals in this form of combat, that neither can gain an edge over each other this way. Painted with blood, they break apart. John knows he could kill it with the Colt, but that’s obviously not an option. No, he’s got a better idea-

He finds himself flat on the ground. Pinned once more by the thing’s psychic powers. Fuck! Not _again_.

Gloating, it looms over him. “End of the road after all, Winchester,” it laughs. John can feel the force increasing, _crushing_ him like a bug.

There’s a red haze swimming in front of his eyes, but he’s not about to give in. With a final roar of defiance, he _shoves_ himself upwards, against the force trying to reduce his bones to kindling, his fangs ripping out of his gums as he launches himself towards the demon.

Startled by the unexpectedly toothy display, the demon’s control slips.

John grabs the demon, whirls it around in a circle as if this is an Olympian discus throw, and hurls it one last time – into the back of his truck.

Dark laughter issues from the truck-bed. “You think you’ve hurt me? I can do this _all_ night, Winchester. And now that I’ve figured out your secret, all I have to do is slice your head from your nec-“

It’s getting leisurely to its feet, laughing at him, but when it tries to step off the tarp John usually keeps pulled tightly over the top of the truck-bed, it freezes. The expression on its face is almost comical.

Grinning himself, John wipes blood from his forehead and says in a conversational tone, “I _told_ Bobby that drawing a devil’s trap on the underside of that tarp was a good idea.”

 

*~*~*

 

John’s not too surprised to find Ellen still there as he lets himself into the motel room, just ahead of the first rays of the sun.

She gets to her feet, staring at John, gaping at the ashes and blood. There’s a clean white bandage on the side of her neck, and he tries not to think about the fact that it’s covering _his_ mark on her.

“What happened?” she asks, but John holds up a hand to stay her. “Just…give me a second,” he requests.

He goes into the bathroom and starts washing the blood and grime off. The final events of the evening replay themselves in his mind: once he’d had the demon trapped, he’d performed an exorcism. He’d tried to get it to tell him where the Demon would strike next, but either it didn’t know, or it was more afraid of its daddy than of going back to Hell. John is back to square one, but at least he’s gotten in one blow against the Demon, by sending this particular ‘child’ back to Hell to join its sister Meg.

John feels guilty that their battle had wounded the human host so badly that he hadn’t survived, but John also knows there’s nothing he could’ve done. All he could do was leave the corpse in a place where it would be found, so at least the unnamed man’s family will have closure.

But yeah, back to square one.

He goes back into the bedroom, sitting down heavily next to Ellen on the bed. He shakes his head slowly, not looking at her. “I hesitated, and it was gone before I could take the shot.” His shoulders slump and he hangs his head.

Ellen’s hand is on the back of his neck, both hesitant and soothing. “You’ll find it again,” she asserts quietly. “Ash’s program will find it. You just have to be _patient_ , John.”

She’s right, of course, though it’s hard to accept the defeat.

Because not only does it mean that Mary’s death has gone unavenged again, and that his boys are still in danger. But it also means that he has to keep on living like this. _I’m not done til this Demon is done_. It’s a promise and a burden.

When he doesn’t respond, Ellen adds, “Maybe we need to bring Sam and Dean in-“

“No,” John says sharply, cutting her off. He shakes off her hand and gets up. “I’m not bringing them into this.” There’s so many reasons to keep them away.

Ellen looks grimly up at him. “They can help, John. Besides, who else can you trust not to kill you on sight? Them, me, probably Bobby….that’s _it_. And maybe not even Bobby. If Jim Murphy was still alive, he’d put you down in a heartbeat, I know that much. He’d grieve, but he’d see it as necessary. And let’s not even talk about Gordon Walker.”

She’s right again, but he’s still unwilling to take the chance. “No,” he insists. “I’m doing fine on my own.” He pauses and reconsiders, meeting her gaze. “ _We_ ’re doing fine on our own.” Because he couldn’t have done this without her.

She nods, acknowledging his unspoken gratitude.

Her cell phone rings, and she pulls it out and looks down at it. “Speak of the devil,” she says dryly, and tosses him the phone.

John glances at the display.

 _S. Winchester_.

John stares at the phone in his hand, the doubts rising inside him. He keeps getting faced with this decision, over and over. Should he change his mind this time, take Ellen’s advice and get his sons on-board?

They’ve always been stronger as a family…

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Demon may soon be out of their reach, so it’s now or never for John and his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I guess technically Vampire!John belongs to me, but everyone else belongs to Kripke. I’m just borrowing them. I’ll give them back when I’m done, really! *crosses heart and hopes to die*

“Sammy,” John says into the phone, locking gazes with Ellen.

“...Dad?” his youngest asks. Clearly, Sam was expecting this message to go unanswered, just like all the others.

John can hear Dean in the background, already demanding that Sam hand over the phone.

“Where have you been? Why have you been avoiding us? What have you been doing for the last two months?” Sammy demands, becoming angrier with each question, and John sighs and rolls his eyes. Vampire or mortal, apparently some things don’t change.

“I’ve been tracking the Demon,” John cuts in flatly. “I didn’t want to take the chance you and your brother would be caught in the crossfire again.” He pauses then, taking a deep breath. “But I’ve changed my mind. I need your help, both of you. This is too big for me to take on solo. I’ve tried, but the damned thing keeps getting away.” 

He waits, but for once Sammy is speechless. 

“And I’m sorry,” John adds, before he loses his nerve. “I shouldn’t have left you two behind. I shouldn’t have ripped you both new ones for what happened back in the cabin. I know in some ways it would’ve been easier, to end us _both_ then and there, but...” He stops, his throat dry. He does understand. As much as he wishes this was all over, he knows from twenty-two years of pain and grief what it’s like to lose those you love...and if Sammy had followed orders, not only would his boys have lost their father...but would they have felt responsible for John’s death? He thinks so. He’s felt guilty all these years for not being able to save Mary, and it’s certainly not like he pulled the trigger and killed her himself. Not like he begged Sammy to do to him.

“Really?” Sam asks, and John can imagine Sammy asking himself if John is possessed all over again. “Why the sudden change of heart, Dad?” Sam, isn’t willing to let him off easy. Not now, not ever.

“Things are....different now,” John says, but then he stops dead. This is not something he wants to discuss over the phone.

“Well, that’s specific,” Sam says sarcastically, but if he’s about to say anything else, it’s interrupted by prolonged rustling and arguing, and then Dean suddenly comes onto the line. “Dad?”

“Yeah, Dean. It’s me.” He has to swallow against the lump in his throat. “How’re you guys doing?”

“OK,” Dean says. “We’re on a job, but it’s nothing _that_ big.” Dean ignores Sammy’s protests, which John can hear perfectly clearly from his end. “Tell me where you are, and we’ll get right out there-”

“No need,” John says. “I have to pick up the Demon’s trail again, first. You boys have some time. Finish your job, then give me another call.” He pauses, resisting the urge to turn away from Ellen – who’s still watching - to hide the depth of his feelings. “I love you both. Be careful.”

Dean says nothing for a long moment, then answers, “We know, Dad. We’ll call you soon.”

“OK, son,” John says, then reluctantly hangs up. He turns to Ellen.

“That wasn’t so bad,” she points out.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t given them the punch-line yet,” John retorts, letting his eyes flash silver at her.

She doesn’t react to this reminder of his bloodsucker status. “You need them, John. You tried to do this on your own, and it didn’t work out. Even Bill worked with other hunters sometimes, and you know how badly he preferred to go solo.”

Yeah, and working with me is what got Bill killed, John reminds himself.

“And stop beating yourself up about Billy’s death,” Ellen adds sharply. “I swear, John Winchester, you’re an expert at that ‘punishing yourself for past mistakes’ crap.”

But John just shakes his head and gets up, crossing the room and heading over to look at one of the maps tacked to the wall, the one with red pushpins indicating all the Demon attacks that have occurred within the last four years or so. The attacks that he knows about, anyways.

“You should go, Ellen,” he says over his shoulder to her. “This isn’t your fight.”

“No,” she shoots back. “You need my help. You need my _blood_.”

Silently, John shakes his head again. Ellen isn’t a box of Ritz crackers he can dip into whenever he feels peckish. She has a life, a daughter, a business, and all of that is more important than using her for the sustenance in her veins.

Than potentially making her a target for the Demon.

“I mean it, John,” she insists stubbornly. “You called me here. I’m involved. And I’m not going away.” He can hear her getting up and moving towards him. She stops behind him, and he can feel her body heat against his back, can scent the copper of her blood.

“Yes, you _are_.” John’s on her in a second, pressing her flat on her back on the bed, teeth descending and eyes glinting down at her.

But if his little display frightens her, she hides it well.

“Look how easily I just got the drop on you,” he hisses, trying to press home his point. “The Demon’s kids? They’re just as fast and strong as I am. The Demon? It’s even _faster_ and stronger. I fucked up and Billy died. You really want to take the chance I’ll fuck up again, and deny Joanna-Beth a mother, too?” Slowly, he lets his teeth retract and sits back, letting her up.

She pushes herself up on her elbows. “This isn’t the military, John. I can decide for myself what I want do. And you underestimate my daughter. She lives for the thought of being a hunter. You think she’d respect me if I turned my back on a fellow hunter when he needed me?” She tosses her hair out of her face and glares at him, sitting up and crossing her arms challengingly.

“Besides, Ash is your best bet for finding the Demon again...and he won’t talk to you unless I say so,” she snaps. 

John stares at her, one part frustrated at her stubbornness, one part angry at her threat, and one part admiring how ballsy she is.

Finally, he gives in. He has no choice, apparently. “All right,” he concedes. “Let’s go see Ash.”

 

*~*~*

John lurks in the shadows, watching the Roadhouse impatiently. Ellen had called ahead to Ash and asked him to fire up the ‘Demon Tracker 2000’, so John had no doubt things were moving forward on that score. But Ash had refused to discuss the results any way except face-to-face, and there’s no way John’s setting foot in a bar full of hunters, not in his vampiric state. So he waits out in the cold drizzle, waits until Ellen can reasonably usher out the last of her customers and clear the way for John to get in.

Finally, a few moments after a knot of drunken men stumbles out, Ellen is signaling him. Suddenly nervous about what Ash might have found out, John moves quickly to the door. Inside, Ellen eyes his damp state, hands him a dish towel, and motions him towards a dimly-lit doorway. “Ash is back there.”

Ash is about as ridiculous-looking as before, but since he gave John one of the best leads he’s ever had, John’s going to put up with Ash’s quirks. For a little while, anyways.

“Well, pardner,” Ash drawls, “There’s good news, but there’s bad, too. _Big_ bad.”

“What?” John asks, trying not to tighten his hands too much around the table-edge. He could probably break the damn flimsy thing right in half.

“Good news is, I can tell you where your Demon is going to hit next. Bad news, this might be the last time you get a shot at it for awhile.”

“ _What?_ ”

“’Looked at the pattern, tracked all the evidence, going back as far’s I can. See, thing is? Seems that this Demon has done this before. A few times. But it doesn’t do it _consistent-_ like. It’ll flame a nursery here, kill a few people there…and then it’ll stop. Sometimes for ten years, sometimes twenty. Sometimes even longer.”

God, no, John thinks. He doesn’t want to live this way one more moment than he has to. Certainly not for another ten or twenty years, waiting for the Demon to return from wherever it goes. “What the Hell is it doing during that time?”

Ash shakes his head. “Dunno, man. Do Demons hibernate? Does he go back to Hell and party down with the Big Boss? I’m jus’ tellin’ you, this might be your last shot for awhile, so you may want to make it count. Cuz all the data’s tellin’ me that this is going to be Demon’s last visit for a looooooong while.”

John slowly sinks into a chair, stunned. It’s all down to the wire, then. If only he had killed it back in the last town. If only Sammy had killed it in Salvation, or back in the cabin…Frustrated, John smacks his palm against the tabletop, forgetting that he really shouldn’t.

It holds up, barely. But Ash’s eyes widen, and he scoops up a shotgun from underneath the table and holds it on John, backing slowly away. “Goddamn it,” Ash mutters, and John realizes his eyes must be glowing silver. “Ellen!” Ash yells.

Ellen comes racing in, then stops as she eyes the scene in front of her. “It’s OK, Ash, he’s cool.”

“He’s a freakin-“ Ash says.

“I know, Ash. But vampire or not, he’s still a hunter. He’s still one of us. And he’s probably got the best chance of all of us, of beating this damned demon.” Still, Ellen’s hand goes to her neck, rubbing against her collar, and John knows what’s there under her shirt and the hidden bandage.

“Well…OK,” Ash lowers the gun, but still looks uncomfortable.

John decides not to press his luck. “Thanks, Ash. You’re helping me rid the world of a really bad sonofabitch.”

He edges out the door and starts toward the bar’s main exit, but Ellen’s hand on his elbow stops him. “I’m coming too,” she says.

“No way. I’m not happy with Dean and Sam coming along, but since it seems this might be my last shot for awhile, I can’t risk it getting away. But that doesn’t mean you need to be in the line of fire.”

Ellen’s eyes widen. “Your _last_ shot?”

John shakes his head. “Ask Ash. And stay _here_.”

She shakes her head and tightens her grip on him. “Not a chance. You need me, John.”

“No, I don’t.” He grits his teeth and yanks his arm from her grip as carefully as he can, then uses his inhuman speed to get out of there and start his truck as quickly as possible.

He guns it and pulls out onto the dirt road, but he wonders why he’s bothering. She can just find out where he’s going from Ash, after all…but he supposes it’s the _principle_ of the thing.

One bullet, one shot. One more demonic appearance, one chance.

 

*~*~*

Three hours later, driving through the rainy darkness, John’s changing his mind again. His daddy always did accuse him of being indecisive at the worst of times.

He can’t involve the boys, he just _can’t_. If anything happens to them, he’ll never forgive himself (though he probably won’t allow himself to live very long either way).

He’s better off getting Bobby in on this, despite the risks. Not the risk that Bobby will become another victim of the Demon, that comes with the job. No, it’s the risk that Bobby won’t listen, once he knows John is now a vampire. That Bobby will try to kill John before John can put an end to all this.

John pulls off the road when he scents some cattle grazing nearby. He needs a ‘snack’, needs to clear his brain.

What’s more important? Keeping his boys safe, or keeping himself safe from other hunters? Making sure the Demon is sent to oblivion, or making sure Sammy and Dean are nowhere near?

The blood eases his mild hunger pangs, but as he strides back to his truck, the questions are less easily left behind.

He’s only halfway back to his truck when his hearing picks up the ringing of his cell phone. He finds himself running to answer it, even though part of him is arguing it would be better to go off the grid until this is all settled.

The caller is D. Winchester, and almost against his will, John picks up the phone and flips it open.

“Dad!” Dean sounds breathless, distressed, and John’s stomach suddenly ties itself in knots, all his earlier doubts forgotten. “Sam is _gone_!”

“What?” John barks, and the phone creaks warningly as his fingers tighten around it. Did Sam go off on some fool idea to track down and kill the Demon himself?

“We were at a diner in the middle of nowhere. Sam goes in to get us some food, my radio flickers, and next thing I know, he’s _vanished_ ….and everyone else in that dive had their throats slit. And there was sulfur everywhere,” Dean rattles off the details, still panicky, and John knows there’s only one choice now. He’d already balked at coming to their aid when Dean was dying, so long ago, and part of him has never forgiven himself for that.

It’s time to make a change, especially since his life will soon be over and there won’t be any more time to fix things, or to take things back.

“It’ll be OK, Dean. Where are you? I’m coming.”

 

*~*~*

He can’t reach Bobby – he must be out on a big job, those are the only times Bobby goes off the grid – and John curses his continuing bad luck. Everything’s turned on its ear. One minute, John’s hunting the Demon, and the next, it apparently has Sammy. John knows that’s not a certainty, of course, but given what he knows about Sam, he thinks it’s a safe bet the yellow-eyed bastard is involved somehow. It’s either kidnapped Sam for leverage against John, probably to force him to hand over the Colt, or it always planned to take Sam, for its own purposes, and the time just happened to be now.

But John can’t shake the feeling that Sam’s disappearance is somehow his fault. Maybe if he’d stayed with his boys, he could’ve prevented this somehow?

Dean’s waiting at the specified dingy motel and room when John gets there, sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. He hesitates as John enters and closes the door behind him, but doesn’t resist when his father crosses the room and pulls his son up into an embrace. “I’m sorry, Dean,” John says, tears already building up in his eyes. “I should’ve been there, for _both_ of you.”

Dean hugs him back, fiercely, and John can hear the blood rushing in his veins. It’s not a welcome reminder. When exactly should he tell Dean about this little problem of his?

“Doesn’t matter, Dad,” Dean replies, letting go and stepping back quickly. Dean’s never been much for extended affectionate scenes. “You’re here now.”

“Then I guess we’d better catch each other up, huh?” John starts first, but he sticks with the easy stuff: He skips over Colorado and Kate, instead telling Dean about his encounters with the Demon and its unnamed ‘kid’. He glosses over some pretty big details there, too, but either Dean knows far too well that John won’t answer any targeted questions, or Dean’s too distraught over Sammy to make the effort, because he doesn’t ask how exactly John managed to overpower the Demon’s son, or to withstand the blistering heat during his last face-to-face encounter with the Demon.

Then it’s Dean’s turn, starting with what he and Sammy had done after leaving the hospital two months ago. “Sam was pretty angry at you, Dad,” Dean says, “He-“

There’s a sharp rap at the door, and John’s hand automatically goes to the Colt, but when he takes a deep breath, the scent of the person outside is familiar. Not a threat, just an annoyance. Sighing inwardly, John crosses to the door and opens it, and Ellen’s on the other side, glaring at him challengingly.

“How’d you find us?” John asks, forgoing a more typical greeting. He doesn’t really want her here. As much as he thinks he needs her.

“She called me,” Dean explains, as Ellen shoves her way past John and into the room. “She said she could help us. And I think we need help, Dad. Especially since I can’t find Bobby-“

“He went after a black dog two days ago,” Ellen supplies, sitting down on one of the room’s stained chairs, still staring John down.

John nods slowly, shutting the door. Yep, that explains it. Bobby’s a great hunter, but _focused_. He never answers his phone until the current job is done, at least on a solo hunt, and while John has to agree that it’s good to avoid distractions, the other side of the coin is missing emergencies. Like this one.

“You were saying?” He prompts Dean.

Dean glances over at Ellen. “Like I said, Sammy was pretty pissed when you took off. You know what he’s like, Dad.” Dean’s editing his words, in deference to the fact they have an audience, and John feels oddly grateful. He shouldn’t, because Lord knows Ellen knows him – knows their family - well enough to read between the lines Dean’s laying down, but John’s got enough on his plate right now.

“So, I figured we ought to go do some other jobs for awhile, give Sam a chance to cool down. Ellen helped us out with that.” Dean nods at her. “But then things started getting…weird. We ran into this kid Andy and his brother, and both of them could control people’s thoughts. Both of them had also had dreams about a certain yellow-eyed Demon.” Dean pauses, glancing uneasily over at Ellen, before adding the obvious. “Psychic kids….just like Sammy.”

John spins on his heel, staring at his son. All this time, and he’d never really given it much thought – that there might be other survivors out there, other kids who might have been… _altered_ , like Sam had.

“You didn’t know?” Dean asks.

“No. I knew there’d been other fires, other survivors, of course. But I didn’t realize they’d all be… _psychic_ like Sam,” John finishes lamely. How do you tell one son that his brother has Demon blood in him, and might eventually turn evil?

Dean nods. “But that was just the _first_ psychic we found. A few weeks after that, this girl Ava came to see Sam. She was some kind of clairvoyant, and she’d dreamed his death.” Dean pauses, considers. “Lots of shit hit the fan – and we should probably talk about it later, Dad, once we get Sam back – but bottom line was, at the end of it all Sam and I went to see Ava, and we found her fiancé carved into cold-cuts, and no sign of her.” Dean swallows convulsively. “Kind of like the people in the diner where Sam went missing.”

“You think the Demon took both of them,” John concludes.

“All these kids, they’re all saying the same thing – that the Demon comes to them in dreams, that it keeps saying it has plans for them. Like it told us back in the cabin.” Dean looks up at John beseechingly, the desperation back in his voice. “What if that’s what’s happening? The Demon is taking all the kids, collecting them so it can put its plans into action?”

“I don’t know, Dean. We have to find Sammy, that’s the next step, no matter what the Demon’s planned.” John looks over at Ellen, suddenly glad she’s here. “Don’t suppose Ash could help us somehow?”

Ellen shakes her head, but reaches for her phone anyways. “I’m not sure, but maybe if we give him the names of all the kids who are missing, maybe he can-“

She stops mid-sentence as Dean doubles over on the bed, moaning and clutching his head.

Suddenly afraid, John’s standing over Dean in a flash. “Dean? What’s wrong?” Is the Demon trying to kill him?

Dean’s gasping, his blood pressure racing, and John knows if Dean snaps out of it and looks up at him now, he’s going to see John’s eyes flashing silver…John struggles to take control of himself, as Ellen races over to help. “Dean!”

Dean suddenly sits up, looking pale and ready to throw up. “Dean, what happened?” Ellen’s on her knees in front of him, holding his hands, a worried expression on her face.

“I’m OK,” Dean says. His eyes, glassy and dazed, meet John’s. “I think I know where Sam is.”

 

*~*~*

Ash comes through again, after Dean describes the bell he saw in the vision. It’s in Cold Oak, South Dakota.

John paces his motel room, agitated, but there’s nothing he can do. The sun is high outside, and John knows he’s lucky that the vision Dean was force-fed gave him a terrible migraine, that Dean is now sleeping off. Else John would’ve had to find some kind of excuse for why he can’t travel in daylight, or finally revealed his vampiric state.

He’s still not ready to go there. It’s foolishness, of course, because the boys will have to be told eventually – and John refuses to think that Sam is already dead – if they don’t find out beforehand.

But he just can’t deal with it right now. Sam is in trouble, and John is trying to do right by his family. Not that he hasn’t before, but he thinks he might finally be turning more into a father than a drill sergeant. Better late than never.

Luckily, by the time Dean’s awake, the sun is already on the wane, and discussion of what they’re going to do when they reach Cold Oak burns enough time that John is barely prickled by the last of the sun’s rays as he gets into his truck with Ellen.

“You going to tell him?” she asks. It’s obvious what she means.

John shakes his head. “Later. Dean’s got enough to deal with right now.”

“I’m sorry, John,” Ellen says, and he knows she means Sam’s disappearance. And maybe possible death.

“I’m not giving up yet.” He starts the engine and pulls out, taking the lead in front of the Impala. He considers telling her what he knows about Sammy, but then decides against it. Ellen was family once, but she’s also linked to the larger community of hunters, and John knows that some of them will see Sam as a threat and make his life Hell (if he’s still alive by this point) if Ellen ever spills Sam’s secret. He trusts her with the knowledge of his vampire state, but anything to do with demons? That’s just too big to trust anyone else with.

Instead, John points out: “The Demon’s put a lot of work into creating those kids like Sam. I doubt it did that, just to kill them out of the blue.”

“Yes, but…” Ellen hesitates. “Didn’t Dean say those other psychic kids often met bad ends?”

“Yeah, but none of them at the hands of the Demon.” That Dean or Sammy knew about, anyways.

Ellen nods and falls mercifully silent. Too many uncomfortable ‘what ifs’, too many things John can’t afford to be distracted by right now.

It’s a long drive, though not terribly exhausting for a vampire, but he keeps his eye on the clock, concerned despite himself. They’ll get there a little less than two-and-a-half hours before the sun is due to rise again, but what if they don’t find Sam right away? What if John gets caught out in the sun again?

Best not to worry about that now.

They agreed beforehand to park their vehicles ten minutes away from the town and enter on foot, so that’s what they do. John extends his senses, trying to ‘read’ what’s ahead of them, but other than that strange _vibration_ he felt before from the unnamed man, just much stronger, there’s nothing.

The town appears suddenly in front of them out of the blackness, and John doesn’t feel much better. It’s ramshackle and deserted. Why would the Demon bring Sam to this place?

John breathes deep again, and this time, he scents blood. Some of it is old and drying, some of it is freshly spilled. Panic starts to well up in his chest, and it takes all his restraint not to rush forward into the town. He strains with his other senses instead, finally picking them up: The sounds of a struggle. Grunting, and the sounds of bodies impacting.

“Dean! This way,” John barks, running towards the sounds. He lets himself run just a little faster than a normal man can, pulling the Colt from his belt as he goes.

John skids around countless corners, the scent of blood getting stronger and stronger. Finally he reaches the opposite end of the tiny town, and there they are: Sammy and some black kid John’s never seen before. In front of John’s disbelieving eyes, the black kid picks Sammy up as if he weighs nothing, and throws him bodily through a fence. Groaning, Sam just lies there.

Frozen, John is aware of Dean and Ellen, still trying to catch up behind him, but most of his focus is on the fight in front of him. What the Hell is going on? He almost holsters the Colt, but wavers. Is the Demon inside the black kid? Should he hang back here, and wait until he gets a clear shot? Neither of the combatants seem to have noticed him yet, and this could be an excellent chance to take out the Demon…if it _is_ the Demon Sammy is fighting.

The black kid kicks his way effortlessly through the fence as if it is made of popsicle sticks, advancing on Sam. John almost starts forward to defend his youngest, despite his plan of a moment ago, but then Sam kicks upwards and knocks his attacker back. Stopping in his tracks again, John watches as Sam gets up and swings, decking the other kid, and John feels a surge of pride. 

What follows next leaves John still wavering, caught between admiration for Sam and his hand-to-hand combat technique, and the desire to step in and help. The two men in front of him trade punches, the black kid even smashing through a board and getting his hand stuck at one point. John keeps watching, but he’s no longer so sure the Demon is in residence. He doesn’t want to waste his last bullet, after all. Or accidentally hit Sammy.

Finally, Sam kicks the black kid through another fence, and then picks up an iron bar from the ground and knocks his opponent out with it. About to start forward and congratulate his son, John freezes a final time when he sees Sam raise the iron bar over his head again, about to strike his fallen foe a second time.

Sam Winchester doesn’t hit opponents when they’re down. John’s taught them better than that. Is the Demon inside his son?

But then Sam lowers and drops the bar, shoulders slumping, and John breathes a sigh of relief and finally holsters the Colt. It’s OK. It _is_ his boy.

“Sam!” Dean yells, and Sam turns, spotting first John, standing in the shadows still, and then Ellen and Dean running up.

“…Dad?” Sam asks. Clearly, John’s the last person Sam expected to see here.

Then it happens. The other kid is awake, moving…and reaching for what John realizes is a knife. The kid is on Sam inhumanly fast, knife poised to drive into Sam’s spine-

Red flashes in front of John’s eyes, and he barely feels the fangs slip free from his gums. Next thing he knows, he’s pinning the kid back on the ground. John almost manages to stop himself, but it’s not enough. This kid tried to kill Sammy, tried to stab him in the back, and John’s not feeling terribly merciful.

Copper and iron fills his mouth, and he drinks deep, for once not caring if he kills. Time stops, and John forgets everything for an eternal, blessed moment.

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him away. “John!” It’s Ellen, and she sounds scared.

Snapping out of it, John releases the kid, but the damage is done. He lies there in the mud, eyes open and glazed, and John knows he’s dead. That he’s killed him.

“Dad?” Dean asks, shakily, and John knows Dean’s seen everything.

John raises his sleeve to his mouth and wipes the blood away anyways, before turning to his sons. They’re crouched on the ground a little distance away, watching him, mouths hanging open.

John glances back at Ellen, then lets his eyes flare silver. “Yeah, I’m a vampire now. Sorry I didn’t tell you boys sooner. I just…. didn’t know how,” he says truthfully.

“You…you killed him,” Sam whispers.

John glances back at the body in the dirt. “He was about to stab you in the back, Sammy.” John pauses. “I’d do anything to protect you both. Remember?”

Sam frowns, and John knows he does. The cabin, and John begging Sam to shoot him, to kill himself and the Demon together. To end this all.

Dean clears his throat. “I think it’s time you told us _everything_ , Dad.”

John nods. “Same here.”

 

*~*~*

It’s a long discussion, but an important one. John finally gets to apologize to his boys, and he tells them the whole story, from being turned to tracking the Demon down – and missing it. For their part, Sam reveals what the Demon told him in his dream, about looking for one child, to lead his army.

Sam hesitates at the end, though, and John’s sure there’s something else Sammy’s holding back, so he waits until they can be alone.

“Something’s bothering you, son. Is it the fact your old man’s a vamp? Can’t say I blame you.” John doesn’t think that’s it, but he’s always had trouble connecting with his younger son, and his own screw-ups are probably the only safe thing to try to ‘open’ with.

“No…it’s…something else the Demon said. Actually, it showed me,” Sam swallows convulsively, his eyes avoiding John’s. “It showed me the nursery, Mom’s death. And what happened just before.” Sam’s eyes finally meet John’s. “It made me swallow some of its blood, before Mom came running in. I think I have…demon blood in me.” He shakes his head. “So I kind of understand how you feel, Dad. We’re both… _contaminated_.”

John reaches up and squeezes Sam’s shoulder – carefully. “Doesn’t matter,” John lies, because there’s nothing else he can do. “We’re more than this…thing inside each of us.”

Sam looks at him through watery eyes. “Did you know, Dad? Did you know what it did to me?”

“I didn’t know the specifics,” John says, and that part’s true. “But I had some idea that it planned to use you and the other psychic kids in some way.” That’s all he’s going to say about it.

“You told Dean he might have to kill me, because we’d let the Demon go,” Sam reminds him, watching John carefully. John winces inwardly. He’s wanted to forget that angry conversation with Dean, back at the hospital two months ago.

Outwardly, he sighs and lets his hand drop from Sam. “I didn’t know _exactly_ what might happen to you, Sam. I just wanted Dean to be prepared for the worst case scenario. Was it wrong of me to say that to Dean? Probably.” He smiles a little. “Do I make mistakes? Hell, yeah. I’m just a man…” He frowns. “Actually, no longer even that.”

“You stood up to the Demon, Sammy,” John continues. “You didn’t let him win. But if you hadn’t….” John doesn’t finish.

Sam nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

But it’s not really over, and John knows it. The Demon is still out there somewhere. Sam is still at risk.

 

*~*~*

Despite his earlier decision, John keeps thinking to himself how insane this is, involving Dean and Sam after what happened back at the cabin. But now it’s too late. Heck, he doesn’t want Ellen here either, really, but the other side of the coin is that if this is going to be their last shot at the Demon for what might be decades, then he’s better off with all the help he can get.

But it turns out not to be that simple (is it ever?). They arrive at the target town – more like a rural community – and do some checking…but in the end, there’s nothing. No dead cattle, no electrical storms, no _signs_.

John calls Ash over and over, but the pattern is clear. The Demon should be here.

But it isn’t.

They wait more than two weeks, but nothing happens. Apparently, the Demon’s decided to break the pattern. Or maybe it’s already gone wherever it goes to ‘hibernate’.

It’s driving John mad. The Demon’s not dead, and that leaves John in limbo. He keeps telling himself that he’s not done ‘til the Demon is, but the flaw there is that he has to stay in this life until he’s _sure_ it’s dead.

If the Demon is indeed gone for the next ten or twenty years or more…the thought of that makes John’s guts twist. Though it would be easy, too easy, to just go find Gordon Walker and let the man decapitate him and end all this, leaving his boys alone to battle the Demon when it returns? Mary would have John’s hide.

He tries not to think about it, instead getting on Ash’s ass to try and discover whether the Demon could be in action elsewhere. He gets Ellen and the boys making calls too, trying to discover any demon-related activity going on _anywhere_ , of any kind.

Still nothing.

John hunts for blood when he has to. Ellen’s there and willing, but it still doesn’t sit right with him. A few sips from local cattle will do him just fine, he figures.

But he’s still a night-creature, so in the wee hours of the morning when Ellen and the boys are asleep, he sits in the local watering hole of whatever town they’re in that week, checking over Ash’s numbers and calculations over and over and over again.

It’s in one of these towns, one of these bars, that the stranger sits down across from him.

“Howdy, John,” the man says. John looks up from his notes, but he doesn’t know the fellow. Blue eyes, short greying hair, weathered face. Nothing smells wrong about him, and there’s none of that odd _vibration_ that seems to signal when someone’s being possessed.

“Do I know you?” John asks. In the old days, he’d be putting one hand to his gun right now, secretly, under the table. But these are new times, and John’s body alone is lethal enough.

The stranger grins. “I should think so,” he chuckles.

His eyes swirl and turn an ugly shade of yellow.

John’s first instinct is to leap over the table and sink his teeth into the man’s throat, but he forces himself to sit still. With his diet of cattle blood recently, he’s no match for a demon, especially _the_ Demon. Not to mention, the Colt’s not even here. It’s hidden in a metal box in his truck, the box marked with a devil’s trap.

The Demon just sits there, grinning. John’s hands clench into fists against his knees. The damned thing is here, right in front of him, and he doesn’t have the means to do anything about it. It’s a struggle to contain his emotions, to keep his eyes from flaring bright silver. They’re still in a public place, and even if the Demon doesn’t care about being noticed, John does.

“What do you want?” John snarls.

“Can’t I just buy a drink for an old friend?” It winks at him.

“No,” John rasps.

The Demon sighs. “Wow, you really are _no_ fun, John-boy. No wonder our Sammy hates you so much.”

“He’s _not_ yours,” John retorts.

“Stop lying to yourself, John. You know the truth about him, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve known for awhile. Doesn’t change anything, though.”

The Demon shrugs. “Whatever, John. Hold onto your little illusions, it doesn’t really matter to me. The important thing is, we both have something the other wants.”

“What’s that?” John asks, but he already knows.

“You have the Colt….and I have the ability to make sure Sam and Dean live long lives, unbothered by me and the rest of my kin.”

“Maybe I don’t believe you,” John shoots back. No way he’s giving up the Colt. Ever. Also, he strongly doubts the Demon would ever let Sam off the hook.

The Demon laughs, and it sounds like gravel rubbing together, “I’m offended, John. Don’t you trust me? You know a thing or two about deals with demons. If I say that’s the deal-“

“Don’t care,” John growls. He starts to get up from his chair. He’s done listening to this bullshit.

The Demon’s hand shoots out, wrapping around John’s wrist. Pain shoots up his arm as the Demon’s hand squeezes tight enough to snap bone, before John’s vampire abilities kick in to ease the pain, to start to heal the break. John yanks, but just as he feared, the Demon is stronger than him.

“Sit a spell,” it orders, all business. “We’re not done.”

John does, and it releases him. John can feel the bones in his wrist continuing to realign themselves, but he still has a problem. A few problems, actually. He can sit here and refuse the Demon all night, but the sun’s going to be up in a few hours, and John doesn’t want to deal with that. The mental image of the Demon dragging him into the daylight and holding him in the sun’s rays until he turns to one giant blister does not appeal.

Not to mention, Ellen and the boys aren’t far away, not at all. He doesn’t want the Demon or any of its friends dragging them into this. Hell, no. Not again.

As if reading his thoughts, the Demon says: “I tried being nice, John. Now it looks like we’ll just have to try the hard way. You’re going to go home, collect the Colt, and bring it to me. Don’t worry, I know all about your ‘allergy’ to sunlight, so you can bring it to me after sundown tomorrow. Here.” It slides a crumpled and stained piece of paper across the table.

John doesn’t take it. “And if I don’t?” But he thinks he already knows what threats it’ll utter.

The Demon cocks its head. “Oh, I think I’ll start by flaming this bar. I’ll do it right now, in fact, if you don’t agree. You and I know that both of us’ll walk out of here just fine. But that lovely blonde bartender – her hair’s so much like Mary’s, isn’t it? – and that teenage busboy? Those drunken meat-suits at the bar?” It jerks its head towards them. “It’s going to be a painful death for all of them.”

“And say you agree but then don’t show up at the location,” it continues, tapping the scrap of paper with one finger, “I’ll come back and flame this place tomorrow, instead.” It grins. “And that’ll just be the start.”

“You sonofabitch-“

It laughs. “I think technically, I’m a son of a _bastard_ , but let’s focus on your family. If you don’t show up with the Colt, Johnny-boy, it’s Dean and Ellen next, after the little ‘barbecue’ here. And then I’ll take Sammy. I abducted him once, so what makes you think I can’t do it again?” It cocks its head, considering. “I’ll bet Sammy’ll agree pretty quick to join my side, what with Dean dead and you a vampire with a target on your back.” Its eyes gleam with anticipation.

Shaking with rage, John can feel the tips of his extra teeth breaking through his gums. It takes all his willpower not to fling himself across the table, tear the Demon’s throat open.

But if he does that, he’s pretty sure all the other people in this bar are dead. If he even manages to get anywhere near the Demon’s throat, which he doubts he will.

“I think I’ll start with Ellen,” it continues conversationally, eyes alight with glee. “Haven’t really taken the time to be with a woman in a long while. I know you know what _that’s_ like, John. Too bad it’ll probably _break_ her.” It flashes white teeth at him.

John’s hands clench on the edge of the table, hard enough that the edge cracks under his fingers. Luckily the juke is playing loud enough that nobody notices.

“And when I’m done with her, it’ll be time to visit Dean.” It pauses for dramatic effect, then continues, delicately: “I’ll spare you all the details, but let’s just say that if I don’t get the Colt, I’ll make sure Dean lives long enough, to know the chewy taste of his own intestines.”

John’s back on his feet without realizing it, but the Demon goes on, as if they’re doing nothing more threatening than discussing the weather. “Simple enough to stop all this, though. You get the Colt, you bring it to this cemetery.” It taps the scrap of paper again. “Tomorrow.”

It pauses, folding its hands, and watches him. Clearly, it’s said everything it’s going to say about this.

John sits slowly back down, mind racing as he tries to plot all this out. He snags the piece of paper and reads the directions. Cemetery’s out in the middle of nowhere, in southern Wyoming.

“Why there?” he asks.

“Not important,” the Demon rasps. It’s getting impatient.

John takes his time smoothing out the piece of paper, quickly thinking it through. Maybe this’ll work out for the best. It’ll be him and the Demon and the Colt, alone - he doesn’t let himself think about the possibility that other possessed humans might be waiting there for him - and Ellen and the boys won’t be in the line of fire.

Besides, does he really have a choice? If he says no, everybody here is dead. And if he says yes and defaults, it’s going to be hard to protect Ellen and the boys, especially when anyone, anywhere, can be a possessed human.

“Fine,” he says through clenched teeth, as if this scenario is the last thing he wants. “I’ll give you the Colt, and the last bullet. And you’ll leave Ellen and my sons alone. Forever.” He doesn’t believe it, not at all, ‘rules of the deal’ or not, but this is the best way. Mano a mano…in a manner of speaking.

The Demon gives him another slow grin. “I knew you’d see it my way,” it purrs. “Buy you a _drink_?”

It winks at him again.

*~*~*

John closes the motel room door behind him, then silently makes his way into the middle of the darkened room. 

He’s playing it over in his mind, trying to forsee all possible outcomes. But every way he plays them, he’s doing this alone. No Dean or Sam, no Ellen. If he fails, this way it’ll only be his life on the line, nobody else’s.

And really, does he care about his own life? Not so much. He doesn’t want to live as a vampire one second longer than he has to. So if he doesn’t survive the coming battle, it’s no big deal.

Except for one thing – the Demon has to die. If John has to die, then it’s coming down with him. That’s all he asks. He even prays to a God he no longer believes in, asking for forgiveness for living like this, asking for – how ironic – the strength to best the Demon when they meet next.

But for now, it’s time to start. John strips, piling all his clothes on a chair, and then climbs up on the bed, slowly crawling up until he finds the warm body there, curling himself around her.

Ellen’s hand is already under the pillow, seeking the blade even before she fully wakes, and John allows himself a grin at how well-trained she is. “Just me, darlin’,” he says. “Sorry for waking you like this, but…” He brushes his lips against the side of her neck by way of explanation, hearing her sharp intake of breath.

Her voice is a little sleepy, confused. She twists, trying to read his face in the dark, and John does his best to hide any sign that he’s doing anything out of the ordinary. Out of his _new_ ordinary, anyways.

“Thought you said cattle blood was enough. Until we got a lead. Do we have a lead?”

“No,” he lies. “And it’s true, cattle blood is OK. But I don’t know, I feel… _fuzzy_. Weak.” He scrambles for an excuse. “Y’know, I just realized tonight that anyone out there could be possessed. Hell, they could even be possessed by another of the Demon’s kids, like Meg. And the more I think about it, more I realize that I need to be at the top of my game, just in case. All the time.”

He hates lying like this, but he tells himself it’s for the best. Very soon now, it’ll all be over, one way or the other. The Colt is waiting for him in his motel room, a hastily-scribbled letter next to it, explaining everything, waiting to be discovered by Ellen or his boys if John doesn’t return. Just so the boys’ll know what happened to him.

There’s just this little transaction with Ellen, and then he’ll be on his way. He nips gently at the side of her neck, using his human teeth. He hopes he can distract her from further questions.

She surprises him by shouldering him away. “If that’s what you consider foreplay, John Winchester, you’re on the wrong track.”

He takes a breath, reminding himself to go slow. But she’s not done. “If this is just for blood, John, then go find yourself some poor slob in an alley somewhere. I didn’t mind doing it once, but I’m not interested in being your mobile blood bank.”

He’s frustrated and amused at the same time. All this time, he figured she came along just for that purpose. Foolish of him. Of course Ellen’s going to want to help, and not by serving as his quick take-out meal. She wants to pitch in, assist him directly in his final battle.

But he can’t allow that. And no, he doesn’t just want her for the blood. The truth of it is, he _does_ care. He doesn’t want to admit to her (or himself) how much. But he does.

“It’s not like that,” he insists, though in the back of his mind, he’s aware of the seconds ticking away. The longer he spends at this, the less time he has to drive to the cemetery and face down the Demon, before the sun rises.

He has an appointment to keep, in other words, and he hadn’t counted on having to spend time seducing a partner. But he reins in his impatience and kisses her bare shoulder gently, because this is still easier. He doesn’t have to hide what he is.

He knows Ellen well enough to expect her to press him, to ask him what it _is_ like, but her body relaxes a little against his, and she’s already a little excited, he can smell it. She puts up a good show, but her defenses are apparently quite a bit weaker than that.

John rolls her gently over onto her back, ignoring the usual pangs of guilt. He thinks Mary would understand. Hell, she’d hate him more for using Ellen just for blood, than if he actually felt something for Ellen.

He kisses her, hot and deep, running his hands slowly down her sides, and he feels her resistance lessen even further. “I never did thank you, did I?” he murmurs when they break the kiss.

“For what?” she asks.

“For _this_. For helping me.” He touches the side of her neck, the marks still visible on her pale skin, then trails kisses down her throat. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to shove him away again, and he wonders what he’s going to do if that happens….but then she gives in, moaning and arching against him, pressing her breast up and into his hand. Her pulse is speeding up, the thuds of it thundering in his ears, and he has to hold himself back. Soft, and slow, that’s what he needs to do. He can’t say he loves her – it would be cruel, given he’s pretty sure he won’t be around very much longer – but he does need to show her that he cares. That it’s not just about her ‘donations’.

Her skin is cool under his lips, as he kisses his way down to her nipple, sucking long and hard on it. Her thighs wrap around his and he can feel her wetness as she grinds against him.

Suddenly, he’s not in such a hurry to face what’s coming. This could be the last act of love, of connection, that he has with any human being. He doesn’t dare see his boys tonight to say good-bye, much as it hurts him. He’s literally leaving the moment he’s done here.

It makes him want to linger, to lick wet circles all over her breast and stroke the palm of his hand slowly up and down the inside of her thigh, to watch her face in the dark as the pleasure washes over her, to listen to her voice change in pitch as she moans his name.

He moves to the other breast, suckling and licking and nipping, brushing his teeth – still human - over her skin, and then he moves lower, softly kissing the point of her hip, then sliding down between her legs. Her hands are on him, nails digging into his shoulders, but he doesn’t think she’s aware of that.

John nibbles on her inner thigh, carefully, and all her resistance is obviously gone, her thighs parting like water, her scent sharp and urgent. He knows exactly what she wants, and he gives it to her, coiling his tongue into the centre of her.

He holds her wide open as he feasts on her, driving his tongue into her, then out and up to caress her clit, over and over until she’s bucking helplessly and her fingers twist into his hair, trying to hold his mouth to one spot. If this had been another time, he might have pinned her wrists down and kept on teasing her (like he used to with Mary, in another lifetime), and even with the countdown clock running in the back of his mind, it’s still _damned_ tempting, but he doesn’t have that much leisure, much as he wants to.

So he gives her what she needs, sliding his fingers into the heated silk of her depths, rubbing his stubbled cheek lightly against her clit and then tonguing away the burn, and her body spasms hard, giving in.

He waits until she’s caught her breath, then he pulls her up onto her knees and turns her. As much as he craves looking into her face, that sense of _connection_ , he’s realizing that might be a very bad idea. He’s probably going to get emotional, all things considered, and if she sees that, there’s going to be questions that he won’t want to answer. This is safer. He runs a hand down her spine, savoring the feel of her skin almost despite himself, and reaches across her to the bedside table, to the condoms he knows are there. He can smell the latex.

“You’re in a rush,” she comments, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t resist. She stays there on her hands and knees, head hanging down, relaxed and waiting.

He laughs, unrolling the condom onto himself. “We’ll see if you still think that when I’m done,” he says, but he knows better. The moment this is done, he’s hitting the road. The countdown clock in his head is becoming more insistent by the moment.

John grips her hips and positions himself, guiding her back and onto him. He can see their bodies reflected in the screen of the turned-off TV across from the bed. His eyes gleaming inhuman silver, and her pale sweat-sheened skin. The way her breasts swing with every slow thrust. The way she digs her fingers into the quilt.

His teeth are trying to descend, his hunger rising, but he’s not ready just yet. He leans over her, biting at the nape of her neck, but it’s all human teeth, no damage done. She shudders, and he can’t tell if it’s desire or fear. Probably both.

But John’s going to make sure it’s _desire_ from now on. His hands get busy again, one tangling in her hair and turning her head just enough so he can kiss her, and then both his hands move lower, reaching around her, cupping her breasts and stroking lightly, teasingly, across her stiff nipples. He speeds up the tempo of his movements in and out of her, and Ellen groans and arches her back, pushing herself against his hands. Her muscles milk his cock, and she’s not thinking about his vampire teeth, or the small pain they’re going to cause her. Or about the fact that he’s here at all, unannounced and with a lame excuse.

John can scent when he’s got her as excited as he can get her this way, so it’s time to switch up. He shifts his hands, sliding one down her shivering belly to the hot slick folds between her thighs, his other hand around her hip to pull her back harder onto himself with each thrust, and he glances in the mirror of the tv screen again, watching the dim reflection of her profile as his fingers find her clit and chafe against it in gentle circles. Her eyes squeeze shut, her mouth falling open, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen in twenty-two years.

“Fuck, John,” she gasps, and hearing her talk like that makes him grit his teeth and fight not to come yet. Women talking dirty always get to him. It’s something Mary figured out early.

“Thought I _was_ ,” he answers, punctuating each word with an almost-brutal thrust and a firm massaging stroke across her clit, and she whimpers.

She’s so close. A few more sharp pushes deep inside her, a few more swipes against her clit, and she’ll climax again, and he can drink.

But he finds himself hesitating. Truth is, despite everything, he’s not all that willing to face the end of his quest. Twenty-two years building up to this, and now it’s going to be resolved in a matter of hours? What’s an extra handful of minutes, especially since they might be some of his last?

So he slows down, ignoring her frustrated groan. He takes his hand from her clit, massaging her belly instead, and goes back to slow, measured strokes. “See? Not in a rush after all,” he tells her, and it’s true, but not for the reason she’s thinking.

“Christ, John,” Ellen says, lowering her head and elbows to the bed. She doesn’t say anything else, just pushes back against him, meeting him on every slow stroke.

It’s a slow, gradual build-up this time, and John keeps glancing at the tv screen to watch, absorbing it all. He breathes in, smelling sex and the coppery scent of blood, and he closes his eyes to better enjoy the feel of her, hot and tight and slippery around him, the smoothness of her skin under his hands. And once he’s enjoyed that moment to the fullest extent, he steps up the pace another notch.

Finally, she’s starting to breathe faster, heat coming off her in waves he can almost see in the dark, her hips starting to push forcefully back against his, and he slips a hand between her legs again. It’s time. He’s enjoying this, still is, but he can only hold off destiny for so long, delicious as the distraction is.

Their bodies are coming together and apart, and it’s almost violent, but neither of them seem to care about that. She’s on the edge again, her cries coming fast and getting higher-pitched, and he knows he won’t last long either. Leaning over her back, he tangles a hand in her hair again, holding her as still as he can, his vampire teeth finally sliding free.

She hisses his name as she climaxes, body shaking and shuddering, and he pushes hard into her one last time, climaxing himself, even as his teeth break through her skin and that metallic ambrosia swirls over his tongue…

He comes back to himself and he’s lying on top of her, his bloodied mouth pressed against her hair, his weight pushing her unresisting body down into the mattress, and he’s suddenly terrified that he got too carried away, that he took too much of her blood.

“Ellen!” My God, did he kill her?

“What?” she asks sleepily, and his heart lurches in his chest. Thank _God_.

“Nothing,” he lies. “I just…I wanted to thank you. That’s all.”

“I love you, John,” she says.

Startled, John freezes. What can he say to that? Especially given the present circumstances.

“I have, for a very long time now,” she continues. “And yeah, I know you don’t feel the same. That’s OK. And now, if you wouldn’t mind, you’re _heavy_.”

He rolls off of her immediately. “Ellen, I-“ But he stops, because he doesn’t know what to say. Even if Mary wasn’t in the way, even if he wasn’t a vampire, he’s still fairly convinced he’s going to his death tonight. And even if he survives, he won’t allow himself to live long, not like this.

She turns over and looks up at him, reaching to touch his stubbled cheek. “It’s _OK_ , John,” she insists sleepily. She crawls slowly back under the covers, holding them open for him until he slides in beside her. He cradles her head on his shoulder, listening as she slips into a deep sleep.

He wishes, passionately, that things could be different than they are.

 

*~*~*

He’s been driving for hours, the Colt lying on the seat beside him. He’s almost there, the wheel rattling beneath his hands, and John never would’ve predicted that he’d feel this nervous, but then again, hasn’t his whole life been building up to this for more than twenty years?

Suddenly, the Demon is standing right in front of him, blocking the roadway, and John slams on the brakes. “What the Hell-?” John reaches automatically for the Colt, wondering if this is another trick.

“Howdy, John,” the Demon says. “Did you have a nice trip?”

“Where the Hell are we?” John asks, tucking the Colt into his waistband and getting out of the truck, though he doesn’t approach the Demon. There’s no cemetery here, just some rusted-out train tracks crossing the rundown road, and John tenses, wondering if he should draw on the Demon right now.

“Almost there. You just need to do something first.”

“What?” John snaps.

“These tracks,” the Demon gestures casually. “They’re murder on tires. I suggest you break them, bend them out of the way.”

John doesn’t know what to do about this odd request. “Why don’t you do it _yourself_? Besides, why should you care about my tires?”

The Demon shrugs. “What can I say, John? I don’t like getting my hands dirty.” It turns and studies his truck, critically. “You blow out your tires, it’ll slow everything down. Cemetery’s fifteen miles thataway, and time is of the essence, after all. There’s only so many hours left ‘til sunrise.” It shrugs again. “It’s your decision.” In an eyeblink, the Demon’s gone. It doesn’t dissolve into smoke, or run away, it’s just….not there any more.

John curses silently, wondering if he’s just missed his best chance to kill the Demon. He stands there uncertainly, wondering if this is some kind of trick. But he can’t see what the harm is in breaking the train tracks, even if he still can’t figure _why_ the Demon would want them broken. It worries him, the feeling that he shouldn’t do this, that there’s some reason why he’d better not, but eventually he moves forward. The Demon’s right about one thing – the sun’s coming.

The tracks are rusty and worn, but gangrene’s the last thing on John’s mind. They resist his strength at first, but then warp and bend, screeching as he breaks them and muscles them out of the way, first one track, then the other. He pauses, but the Demon doesn’t reappear, so he climbs back into his truck and resumes driving.

 

*~*~*

Yep, it’s a cemetery. A run-down and unused one, at that. Why the Hell is the Demon insisting on making the exchange here?

The Demon is standing in front of a large mausoleum when John pulls up. He turns off the engine, straining his new senses, trying to determine if there are any other demons or humans nearby, but it’s like the Demon is _jamming_ everything. John smells old death, dust and dirt, and something he can only describe as ‘shimmery’, odd as it sounds, but that’s all. There better not be an army of possessed hiding just out of sight, or John knows he’s probably fucked.

He picks the Colt up off the seat, sliding slowly out of the truck. This is it, he suddenly decides. Now or never.

As soon as his feet touch the ground, he bolts straight at the Demon, raising the gun as he goes. His finger starts to pull on the trigger with super-human quickness-

And he’s slammed face-first into the mausoleum, the gun ripped from his fingers. “You sonofa-“ John snarls.

The Demon swaggers over, laughing. “Technically, you broke the deal first, Johnny-Boy, by taking the run at me you just did. But you know what? You were right all along. I never had any intention of letting the boys go. Dean needs to die, for killing my Meg. And I’m not done with Sammy, not by a long-shot. Ellen? Hell, I’ll do her just for the fun of it.” John can’t see the thing, his face pressed to the dank mausoleum wall, but he can almost _feel_ its leering grin.

“Thought Demons were supposed to honour their deals,” John grits out, struggling against the force pinning him, but he’s not sure why he’s stalling. Nobody knows he came out here. There’s no cavalry coming.

It laughs again, almost gently. “Even if you hadn’t just tried to shoot me, John, it’s all in the ritual. You didn’t summon me at a crossroads, thus no formal contract. I know, red tape- it’ll make you nuts.”

It pauses, then releases its hold on him, just long enough to flip him around, and then press him back against the wall again. John clenches his fists, continuing to test his strength against the Demon’s, but it’s no use. He’s as helpless now, as he was as a human before, his vampire powers gaining him nothing here.

“Thanks for this, by the way,” the Demon adds, holding up the Colt. “I could kill you with the last bullet, of course, but that’s what you want, isn’t it? The whole vamp thing not working out for you, I’m sure.” It pauses, cocking its head. “But no, I think I’ll save it for Dean, when he gets here.”

Before John can process what _that_ means, the Demon sidles up closer, those ugly yellow eyes and heavily lined face coming way too close for John’s comfort. “You wanna know why I really wanted this gun? Because it actually has nothing at all to do with the fact it could kill me.”

John snarls, his vampire teeth coming down, but the Demon only laughs and moves away, heading for the front of the mausoleum. There’s an odd symbol there, vaguely familiar to John. Didn’t Bobby show him something like that, once? He can’t remember.

“I have to thank you, John,” the Demon says again, holding the gun right in front of the odd symbol. Too late, John notices the hole right in the center of it. A hole that exactly matches the width and shape of the Colt’s barrel. “Not only did you save Sammy for me – which is fantastic, because I wasn’t all that hot on his opponent, anyways - but you brought me the key, the ‘Get out of Hell Free card’ that I needed. Ironic, isn’t?” It smirks, glee dancing in its infernal eyes. “After everything I’ve done to you and your family, you do all these _favours_ for me. Very thoughtful of you.”

“You sonofabitch,” John spits at it, but the Demon only gives him another leering grin, and slowly slides the barrel of the Colt into the socket of the symbol.

There’s a series of clickings and whirrings, and the next thing John knows, the doors of the mausoleum whip open, blasts of heat and fire and icy cold spinning out from inside. Then come the demons, countless numbers of them, smoky wraiths that whirl in glee and flit away, followed closely by vague, tattered ghosts. John wants to roar in rage, as the realization hits: All these demons, released into their world, and it’s _his_ fault.

The Demon’s standing in front of him again, Colt in hand. More demons swirl around them, and the rush of wind coming from the open doorway to Hell – because that’s the only thing it could be - is deafening. Somehow, though, John can still hear the Demon’s pleased remark: “Well, looks like the gang’s all here!”

In the distance, at the edge of the cemetery, John spots Sam and Dean. “No!” he howls, but the Demon is already standing between the boys, shoving them psychically into trees and headstones, holding them there. The force holding John weakens – apparently, the Demon has a finite amount of strength in that regard – but not enough.

The Demon paces slowly back and forth between Dean and Sam, obviously taunting them, but John can do nothing. The yellow-eyed bastard is going to do it, kill Dean and corrupt Sam, take his army and destroy the world, and there’s nothing John can do-

A form suddenly darts in front of him, and he scents Ellen before his watering eyes can identify her. She launches herself at one of the mausoleum doors, trying to shove it closed, but try as she might, she hasn’t got the strength. Desperate, she locks eyes with him, but he’s still stuck to the wall like an insect on flypaper.

More dark, inchoate forms fly out of the gate and past the two of them. “John!” Ellen shouts, “You have to fight him, you have to help me! I can’t close the gate on my own-“

But that’s not their only problem. Across the cemetery, John can see the Demon, walking slowly back and forth between his boys, the Colt still in its hand. Through the din, even his vampire hearing can only pick up snatches of what it’s saying.

_I’m so glad Sammy's still in rotation…can thank John for that…liked Sammy better than Jake, anyhow…Don’t need_ you _, though, Dean._

The Demon cocks the Colt, and the sound seems to go through John’s entire body like the thrust of a machete.

No, not Dean. Not _again_.

Something takes John over. Red light seems to fill his brain and spike into his muscles. It’s the same killing rage he felt, when that black kid was about to stab Sam in the back.

He lets it enfold him, his hands curling into claws. He _shoves_ as hard as he can-

The force holding him in place buckles and rips like tissue paper, and in a flash John finds himself grappling with the Demon. It drops the gun in surprise, but then it twists effortlessly out of his arms. Still, John’s relentless. He’s on it again, teeth ripping at whatever he can get hold of, fingers gouging into its ribs.

Still, it’s far too strong for him. Another few moments, and the Demon has broken his arms, broken his hold, and hurled him away, thrown him with bone-crushing strength into a headstone.

Disoriented, but his body already healing, John gets to his feet as quickly as he can. He knows he’d better rush the Demon again, now, before it pins him down once more-

The Colt roars behind him, and John whirls around, a cry of protest tearing out of him. The Demon, it’s shot Dean-

But he’s wrong. Dean’s standing, Colt in hand, and the Demon is the one on the ground, white lightning ripping through its possessed body as the Demon inside dies.

They’ve won.

A ghostly form eddies past him, reminding John about Ellen, and the gate to Hell. He’s at her side in a split second, shoving both of the doors closed easily. The lock clicks and whirrs, finally locking down.

It’s over. John wanders slowly, almost reluctantly, back to where Dean and Sam are standing over what remains of the Demon’s last host, Ellen trailing after him.

John kneels down by the corpse, but there’s nothing unusual about it now. Nothing except the bullet hole in its head. You’d barely know what horrific monster had just died behind those blue eyes.

John closes his own eyes for a moment, giving silent thanks, and then he stands up, pulling his eldest into a hug. “You did it, Dean,” he whispers.

“No,” Dean contradicts him. “ _We_ did it, Dad. All of us.”

John lets Dean go, almost surprised when Sam’s next, grabbing and hugging his father with almost-desperate strength.

But John doesn’t feel much of a sense of triumph after all. It’s over, yes, but that also means John’s life – such as it currently is – is also over, and never mind the hundreds of demons that have just been released. Now he knows why the Demon wanted him to break the old railroad tracks.

He’s such a fool.

Stalling, he asks: “How did you know I was here?”

Sammy shuffles, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I saw it in one of my visions. And then Dean and I, um, broke into your room and found the note.”

John nods slowly. Another time and place, he might reprimand them – though for what, even he’s not sure any more – but now he just can’t muster the energy. He feels defeated, which is _crazy_ , given that they’ve finally won the battle, one that has taken them so much time and sacrifice to win, but there it is.

It’s all over. Which means it’s time to put himself down.

Dean, unaware of John’s black thoughts, is grinning at Sam. “Well, cross _that_ off the to-do list.”

John’s heart hurts, but he knows what has to be done. “Yeah, but we’ve got something else to add to it.”

Dean turns towards him, eyes already wary. “What?”

“Boys, this’ll be difficult, but…I’m a vampire. You know what that means.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “You mean, you want us to kill you.” John can practically hear the silent _‘Again.’_ that Sam nearly tacks onto it.

John nods, though he can see the rebellion brewing on both his sons’ faces already. Hell, he can even guess what Sam’s next words will be: _We’ve barely begun celebrating the Demon’s death, and now you throw_ this _at us?_

But John feels that he hasn’t really earned the right to celebrate. There’s hundreds of demons out there, about to wreak havoc, and it’s all his fault. Not to mention the fact he’s a vampire, a parasite on the living.

He doesn’t belong here, period. The only question is, who’s going to do the deed.

The four of them stand there, staring glumly at each other.

It’s not at all how John pictured their final victory going. Then again, he never expected anything like this would happen.

 

*~*~*

Dean swaggers into the Roadhouse, sauntering up to the bar with Sam in tow. It’s 3:47am and the place is empty, Ellen just about done cleaning up, but she draws them each a beer.

“It go well?” she asks, but she can already tell it did.

“Hell yeah,” Dean answers. “You know what we fought? The freakin’ _seven deadly sins_.” He grins even wider.

Sam shakes his head at Dean’s enthusiasm. “Dean, we almost lost Isaac.”

“ _Almost_ is the operative word, Sammy,” Dean replies, swigging his beer. “Right, Dad?”

John strides in, pushing the Roadhouse door closed behind him. He smiles briefly at Ellen, then walks over to sit next to Dean. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Dean, but Sam’s right. We need to take this more seriously.”

“Yes sir,” Dean says, but he winks secretly at Ellen. She turns to draw John a beer as well, shaking her head and smiling to herself. How the three Winchester men manage to work together without killing each other, she’ll never know.

John accepts the drink from Ellen, but he only takes a sip. He _can_ drink alcohol, but he doesn’t really want to. Instead, he rolls the glass between his hands and listens with half an ear as Dean starts to tell Ellen the details of their hunt. Seven down, hundreds to go, but it’s a start.

He should be dead. He _should_ find a way to kill himself, or find a hunter to do the job, he knows that. Even if he only feeds on cows from here on in, he’s a parasite and he doesn’t belong here.

Still – and maybe it’s just an excuse – he feels he needs to make amends for all the evil he so foolishly released into this world. Maybe once all those demons are contained again, he’ll be ready to leave this life.

Maybe it’s also the fact that the Demon has stolen away so much of John’s life already. His wife, more than twenty years of his human life, normal childhoods for his sons…truth be told, John feels it’s time he took something back.

He knows there’ll be challenges, of course. Ellen is handy, but he can’t feed on her before _every_ hunt, even if she’s willing (she obviously is). He’ll have to go after supernatural beings only at night or, as he and the boys recently discovered, during heavily overcast days. He’ll also have to avoid other hunters, particularly fanatics like Gordon Walker.

But all in all, he’s up for it.

Even if he gets killed on a hunt, or by a hunter, before his task is fully done, well, he’s not going to lose sleep over that, either.

The important thing is that the Demon is dead.

Now that the deed is done, maybe it’s also time to let go, to move on. Ellen loves him, after all. Maybe he should explore that, see where things might go. He thinks Mary would understand.

But that’s for later. For now, he’s going to enjoy what he’s earned: the end of the longest war he’s ever fought.


End file.
